Perfect World
by Mephiles
Summary: Before Eureka Seven, before Renton and the Gekko, there was the S.O.F. Follow Holland through his career as the Commander of the most infamous unit in the U.F.P.T's history. HollXDian, HollXTal, DeweXTal, RayXCharles
1. Wrecked Him

Mephiles: Hello there everybody, this fan fiction is going to be a tad bit more serious than most of the other ones I have written and will focus mainly on Holland and his time and life as a full fledged commander of the S.O.F. Because of this there will be several battles occuring and not everything will necessarily turn out morally correct due to the fact that the story deals with an elite military asset squad. I apologise for any continuinity errors which may occur ecspecially with Chales and Ray, but the anime never really describes the past accuratly. As always I would appreciate reviews and advice and hope you enjoy the story.

* * *

**Wrecked Him**

"She didn't even leave a note?" Charles asked, the SOF commander's tone clearly revealing both his incredulity as well as his amusement.

"Now Charles, be considerate, Holland is having a difficult time." Coming from Ray these words brought a momentary look of apology to the raccoon-faced man's features.

"Nonsense Ray! Holland knows it's not such a big deal, right Holland!" He declared as he slapped the smaller man on the back.

Holland didn't respond. It _was_ a big deal. He _was_ having a difficult time. And he wasn't paying his companions any attention at all. His mind was still full of _that_ person's absence. Diane Thurston.

The three elite KLF pilots were seated at their usual spots in the bar. They didn't reserve the table, but anybody who went there knew that you didn't sit in their seats, not unless you had just taken out a huge insurance policy on broken bones. The Blizzard Bar was frequented almost entirely by military personnel, a consequence of being the closest source of alcohol to the Farlan Heights Military Base. Most civilians did not take too kindly to soldiers in their bars, and they had a certain amount of good reason for it. So to avoid unnecessary trouble, the soldiers effectively conquered the nearest establishments, and the civilians by and large ignored them. The arrangement suited everybody. Holland, like most of the SOF, was something of a hard drinker, and he, Charles and Ray, were well known customers to the staff, but today he hadn't even finished his first beer. All he could think about was the fact that the girl he had given his heart to, had left without a word.

He had known she was unhappy, or perhaps more accurately dissatisfied. From the very beginning of their relationship he had come to slowly understand that more than anything else she wanted to prove right the theories and research of her father, the legendary Adrock. She had told Holland openly that her fascination with her father's work took precedence even over her relationships, but Holland had only heard and not really understood. He had always believed that in time she would put her father's presence behind her, and that he could draw her back to the real world and be the man to give her what she needed. Bitterly he now realized that he may not have understood what she needed at all.

May not have understood _her _at all.

Throughout their time together she had never stopped in her self-imposed mission to fulfil Adrock's work, the last time he had seen her she had been at her monitor, engrossed with the research, uncaring of the world around her, including him. It hurt, deeper than he was comfortable with admitting, that she used his access to restricted military files and locations to investigate Adrock's legacy. It left him feeling used. That night (had it really only been two days ago?) she had told him that she could not find what she was looking for there. Could not find what she was looking for while she was with him. The choice was between her mission and Holland. Holland wished that she could have at least pretended it was a difficult one.

He had arrived home the next night to find the apartment silent; all of Diane's things had been removed. There was no note, no message, no hint that she had been there at all. If not for his memories of their time together it may as well never have happened. The hollowness of his soul echoed the damning emptiness of his apartment.

He missed her with every fibre of his being.

"Hey, Holland," Ray asked gently, "You haven't even touched your drink." The care in her voice was obvious, it served only to remind him of the affection he had lost.

He turned his attention to his friends, fixing Charles with a look that he hoped concealed the way he was feeling, "So how's your relationship coming along then?"

It was a bitter question, one that Holland would not have asked normally. He was well aware of how difficult it must be for Charles and Ray. The military took a very harsh view on romantic fraternisation between personnel, particularly between a subordinate and superior. Charles was one of the two commanders of the SOF, Ray under his direct authority, if the Intelligence Department caught wind of their relationship both would face serious repercussions. Yet the two were far too much in love to let petty things like rules and regulations interfere, and so far they had managed to keep their interactions under the radar, if in no small part due to the collaboration of the majority of the SOF. To ask Charles about their relationship so candidly, in a bar full of soldiers was a very nasty thing to do, but Holland felt nothing but envy of his fellow KLF pilot at that moment. Sure he could make light of the situation because he had Ray. He had every fucking thing he could want, irrelevant of whether his relationship had to be kept covert; he still had the women he loved at hand, and in his damn bed. Above that, she was as totally devoted to him as it was possible to be, why could Diane not have shared a similar dedication? What had he lacked to make her run off with so little regret?

"Oh, it's coming along just fine Holland." Charles said evenly, his smile not faltering an inch, "How 'bout yours Ray?"

"My guy's just perfect, actually." The foxy women answered with a look of loving admiration at Charles that hit Holland like a kick in the gut, "Is your girl pretty?" she asked Charles with sparkles in her eyes.

"She's beautiful as Trappar Dust at sunset, as clever as a fox and as absolutely wonderful as it is possible for a person to be." He replied, his hand slipping behind her shoulders as he spoke.

"Charles..." Ray exhaled, fear and desire fighting for supremacy in her voice.

The mood changed, Charles returned to his sitting position, and Ray looked down at the table with an abashed expression on her face.

Holland regretted engendering the situation but was in no mood to apologise, he realised that in his present condition he was a danger to his friends, his hurt made him numb to their circumstances. He wasn't even sure why he had met with them.

In the silence at the table Holland rose and faced the two, "I'm gonna go to bed, my unit's got a task at Contario to take care of tomorrow, so I'll be seeing you guys after I get back."

"You sure you're alright? You know you can talk to us about things." Charles surprised Holland by showing earnest concern for his friend.

"Yeah but I've got to figure this out for myself." The silver-haired pilot grimaced at the older man, "see you guys round."

"Alright, see ya." Charles nodded.

"Good-bye." Ray added with a note of regret in her farewell.

* * *

After he had left the two remaining SOF pilots began the time honoured tradition of cross-examining their friend's situation behind his back. 

"It's a good thing that he finally got loose from that girl." Charles declared with conviction, "She was nothing but trouble."

"Now Charles, how can you say such a thing?" Ray responded with a shake of her head, "Couldn't you see how much he felt for her? She was his first after all, it's always difficult."

"Not arguing with that," Charles lifted his hands defensively, "but everyone has to deal with their first break-up eventually. Or else how can you move on?"

"Don't say it so callously!" Ray exclaimed, her voice sharp, "Breaking a relationship must never be a small thing! Love is not something that should be treated like a passing phase."

"Of course not! I said no such thing! Once one finds the women one loves one must hold her closer than one's own heart and giving up one's life must come before giving up her love! That is what true love must mean to a man." Charles spoke with the surety of a true believer, the cadence of his words filled with heart-felt meaning. It was so puissant that Ray felt her heart throb that the man she loved could hold such an absolute devotion, and prayed that she could match it in turn. "But little Miss Thurston did not love Holland."

"I guess she didn't." Ray conceded.

"Her heart was on something else. Holland, however, did not know, and still doesn't know, what real love should feel like. What he felt for her was new to him, and simply put she could use his naivety to manipulate him. Hopefully now that his heart is no longer a puppet on her string he can find a true love."

"Why do you think he, as you say, doesn't know what real love feels like?" Ray asked, her hands slipping into his under the table, their fingers playing with all the passion that propriety disallowed them showing in public.

"Well..." Charles frowned, his big honest face focused on her, his brow furrowed, "I think the fault probably lies with his family."

"Love is something peculiar amongst the Novaks."

* * *

Holland sat glumly on the floor of his room, his eyes staring unseeingly at the bed. At his feet lay every picture and every piece of memorabilia of Diane's presence that he possessed. A shirt she had bought him, a set of Liftboard cleaning tools, three Skyfish eggs she had given him on a picnic and about four pictures. That was all. 

Of the pictures, only two actually showed Diane, both the others were taken by her of Holland. She had left them behind as well. Of the two showing her, one was a very personal shot Holland had taken one night. It showed her splayed across his bed, her top pushed up to expose her firm breasts, whilst her legs were held in the air as she removed her black panties with one hand whilst running the other between her legs, her face was smiling seductively, her entire arched body exuding desire and sexuality. But in her eyes Holland could not help but catch a hint of disinterest, the smallest glimpse into the fact that she was not performing for Holland's benefit, but her own. That everything she was so blatantly offering him in the image was nothing more than a bribe of flesh and pleasure so that she could more easily achieve her mission. Holland hated her for using him like that, hated her for manipulating him, but more than anything he hated her for the fact that she made him feel so good when she was around. He hated her for the fact that he loved her.

With a sharp, vicious motion he seized the photo and tore it in two, making sure to tear directly through the gap between her hatefully beautiful legs, right through her body and face. The action vented the smallest fraction of his frustration. He felt a savage, harsh satisfaction at the damage he had done to this object of his devotion to her. It was the cathartic pleasure of breaking a shrine to the god that had abandoned you, meaningless but perversely appeasing to the psyche. Angrily he reached to destroy the second picture, but was interrupted by a call from the room's intercom.

"Commander Novak, you are ordered to report to Colonel Novak's office. Urgent."

After a seconds hesitation Holland rose and dropped the picture on to his bed, and moved towards the door.

The photo he left behind showed a young Diane leaning with both arms on her little brother's head with her grandfather standing nearby. She was smiling the kind of smile she had not been able to duplicate since Adrock's death.

* * *

Holland made his way through the base's corridors to his brother's room. As he walked he found himself idly wondering what Dewey could possible want to talk to him about. He had already received his mission briefing from ComOps, and Dewey rarely, if ever, called Holland for any reason not related to work. 

Dewey's chamber was spacious, with four large vertical windows opening to a fantastic view of the Farlan Valley system that made the area such a magnet to Lifters, or used to before the army took control of the region for advanced KLF manoeuvres and training. Dewey was sitting at his desk, the only one in the room, isolated at the very edge of the office next to the windows. As Holland entered Dewey raised his head and gestured towards one of the two seats in front of his workplace. Not needing more instruction Holland walked towards his seat. As he lowered himself Dewey spoke without looking up from the files he was studying, "You seem distracted Holland, are you alright?"

Holland cursed inwardly at his older sibling's unerring ability to read people's feelings and thoughts.

"Everything's fine sir." He declared in what he hoped was a dismissive tone.

Dewey raised his head and fixed Holland with a look that seemed to interrogate his soul. The Colonel's eyes softened and he gave a half-smile before saying, "My apologies, not meaning to pry."

"You called me." Holland answered, trying to change the topic of the conversation.

"Yes I did, now I'm sure you have already been briefed thoroughly on the Contario situation, but..." Dewey paused and turned his attention to something behind Holland, making the SOF pilot swivel in his seat.

A woman, clearly a secretary judging from her uniform, was walking towards Dewey's table. Had Holland been his usual self he would have spared a few moments to properly appraise the new entry, seeing as how she was a noticeably attractive girl, but with his current mood he merely gave a passing look and returned his focus to his brother.

Dewey however maintained his gaze at the approaching secretary, much to Holland's annoyance. When she reached the desk he actually stood up, forcing Holland to follow suit, and beckoned for the girl to stand with him. With a smile the Colonel turned to Holland and, with a gesture at the interloper, said, "Holland, allow me to introduce my new secretary, the highly able Miss Talho Yuki."

From the way his hand moved to rest gently on the small of her back, and the way she looked at him with the hatefully adoring gaze of a supplicant, Holland could immediately tell that she was more to Dewey than simply a secretary. A gnashing of furious emotion commenced in Holland's chest and gut, envy, anger and bitterness joining in a chorus to declare the unfairness of the whole fucking world.

Holland knew better, however, than to show the true nature of his feelings in front of Dewey, and so merely settled for bowing towards Miss Yuki. As he did he found it difficult to ignore the fact that she possessed a very fine set of legs, and wasn't shy about showing that off if the length of her skirt was any indication.

"My pleasure to meet you." He intoned politely.

"Oh no, the pleasure is all mine." She replied with fake formality, mimicking his bow.

Grating his teeth at her attitude, he rose steadily and gave a nod of acknowledgment before turning to Dewey.

The Colonel had an amused expression and playfully placed his hand on Talho's head, a habit of affection Dewey had picked up in his youth. She smiled coyly at him before raising the files she was carrying and offering them to him.

"As you requested sir, the latest intel from the Contario region." Her voice was strong, with a quality of independence that was strangely at odds with the attitude she projected towards Dewey. He nodded benignly and placed the files on the desk before him.

Without hesitation he bent down and whispered something into Talho's ear that Holland could not discern, but it brought a smile to her face that Holland could only translate as horny. Fucking little secretary slut, he grated harshly, she was no doubt playing up Dewey for a promotion, or other fringe benefits. Well with Dewey the bitch had probably bitten off more than she would be able to handle, he thought with perverse satisfaction. Dewey was perhaps the most unmanipulatable man on the planet. This, unfortunately, just made Holland even more jealous.

"Thank you Miss Yuki, please excuse myself and Commander Holland but we have important matters to attend to." Dewey watched her go with an inscrutable expression, and the moment the doors slid closed he returned his attention to his younger brother.

"Now as I was saying, you have been briefed on the Contario situation, it is in reference to that incident that I have called you here."

Holland frowned and asked, "Contario? The briefing made clear that it was not a particularly unique uprising."

"It isn't unique in almost every respect. But, in one very important aspect it has proven to be a very special case." Dewey explained, his eyes surveying the reports Talho had brought in, "So special that certain facets of our plan to deal with it had to be kept out of the general briefing."

Holland raised his eyebrows at this, knowing that anything special enough to warrant a one-on-one briefing from Dewey was probably of serious import.

"Not to seem patronizing, but would you please repeat to me a rough overview of the assignment you were briefed about by ComOps concerning the Contario situation."

Holland sat back and stared at the spot above Dewey's head as he recited the briefing.

"A revolutionary group has formed within the Contario region's mountainous plateau. It appears to be based on archaic principles of populous liberal democracy, and is using ideas taken from several ancient philosophies to justify its defiance of the Sage Council and the Army. It calls itself the Democratic Unity Movement..."

"An ironically appropriate acronym if ever there was one." Dewey commented wryly.

"...and has gained some support from local populations. The mission concerning the destruction of D.U.M. will centre on the termination of the leadership ring of the movement, on last intel that means the twelve members of the Executive Council. They are holed up in the town of..."

"Sorry to interrupt Holland but that is not entirely accurate." Dewey interjected, raising his hand, "These reports Miss Yuki just brought indicate that the strategic situation has changed."

The Colonel rose and took up a standing position at the window, "It seems the D.U.M. executive have a degree of prudence in their planning. They have separated their leadership to various locations, and are compartmentalizing their subdivisions."

"In other words we can no longer trust to a single decisive strike to shatter the group." Holland grimaced, "Leaving us with little alternative but to launch a punitive assault."

"Unfortunately." Dewey nodded with a look of weary resignation on his face, "Such a waste, a group capable of this organization with such miniscule resources would have proven useful had they applied their talents to a constructive purpose."

"Was that the special aspect? I see no reason that had to be left out of the general briefing."

Dewey turned to his brother, and Holland could see that something else still needed to be said, "No. That information was not included in the briefing because I only received it now. You will disseminate this data to your squad and initiate a High-Yield Gamma Assault, the locations will be given to you when you leave." A pause, then, "The matter I called you here for involves a different matter entirely."

* * *

Dewey had the kind of face that seemed to emanate purpose, it was a worn face, with the marks that bespoke the many perils and trials its owner had seen and undergone. His eyes were piercing when he wanted them to be, and magnetically benevolent when it was required. The only constant was the remorseless quality of destiny that was as intrinsic to who Dewey was as his breathe and beating heart. This sense of destiny was contagious, and those who caught it could not forget it. Life was unfathomable, mysterious and lonely. Dewey's eyes and purpose appeared to say that he held answers, that he held hope and that he could show a way towards a meaningful future. All you needed to do was follow. 

A by-product of this nature was that few people even realized these things about Dewey. Even Holland was largely unaware of the effect his brother inspired in himself and others. The eldest Novak had the combined potential of a prophet and an emperor. The terrifying thing was that he was, at heart, a good person.

* * *

"You understand that this information is need-to-know, even to the rest of your squad." 

"Understood sir."

"Now it turns out that the movement has captured our radio substation in the region, and they are using it to spread their dangerous and secessionist message. No other splinter group has thus far utilized our radio network so wilfully. It is of utmost import that we make sure this example is not repeated. To this end you will be utterly terminating the entire substation."

"Understood sir." Holland acknowledged.

"The reason this is a black-on-black mission is that the D.U.M. have no personnel capable of running the station, so they have coerced and threatened loyal Federation employees to do their bidding. It was from loyal members of this station staff that we acquired the majority of our intel on D.U.M." Dewey, still standing, passed a hand over the files and reports on his desk, "They sent coded data packets with the movement's propaganda transmissions."

There was a momentary silence in which Holland could swear he felt the air grow pregnant with fate.

"Their rescue will be impossible, and we cannot risk the safety of the entire Federation for a small group, loyal though they may be. Thus you will continue on the assigned task of eliminating the installation, regardless of their presence."

"Understood." Holland replied impassively, "How many?"

"Our intel indicates fifty-seven."

"Unfortunate." The word held real regret, but the SOF commander had long since numbed himself to the sacrifices that the greater good required, "but necessary. Is that all?"

"Yes, I think so." Dewey declared as he returned to his seat, "I knew I could rely on you commander."

Holland rose, saluted, and made his way to the door. As he moved to leave a voice called from behind.

"By the way Holland, I would remind you that jealousy is a very negative emotion."

Holland blanched, he had thought that he kept his feelings concerning his brother and Talho well concealed.

"Sorry sir, but..." He began, his voice taunt with resident anger and fresh humiliation, but the Colonel cut him off,

"See to it commander, and also consider that whilst you focus on your work you seem able to forget your personal situation. Consider this mission as a chance to clear your head."

"Dismissed."

* * *

Mephiles: I hope you enjoyed it and ask again that you please leave a review 


	2. All In A Day's Work

Mephiles: Second chapter is here and it is mostly one big battle scene. There will be quite a few OC's but I couldn't very well let Holland fight all by himself or with only one partner because then what would be the point of being a Commander? I warn anyone who is sensitive that quite a few innocents and civilians are killed by the main characters in this chapter and anyone uncomfortable with this should not continue reading. Please, as always, leave a review and advice if you can and I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

**All In A Day's Work**

"A High-Yield Gamma Assault, huh?" The voice was businesslike, somewhere between disinterested and serious. It was also a voice that held a note of pitch that seemed to say, 'fuck with me and die screaming.' Holland was used to the mannerisms of his second-in-command, the forty-two year old veteran pilot Caiphas Friedrichs, call-named Oldboy. He had served together since Holland's promotion to the ranks of the SOF, and was able and professional.

The squadron was airborne and moving at high speed towards the Contario plateau. The team consisted of the usual six units that composed most KLF squads. Each one knew that they were the best of the best, and each one would perform his duties to the best of their abilities. Holland's 1st squadron was noticeably without female pilots, to a few of his teammate's great frustration, but this was merely an accident of chance, rather than through any design.

The plan was fairly straightforward, D.U.M. seemed to lack KLFs, and few conventional air defence platforms had any hope of successfully engaging an archetype-based vehicle, barring a military grade Laser Cannon, so the team would separate and enter low and fast, pairing off to take out the three primary targets, a former military post in the area, the town hall of Stratton (the region's most populous settlement), and a school building in the outlying community of Providence. After the strikes Holland would turn off and complete his personal objective by terminating the radio station. To this end he had assigned himself the military post considering it was closest to the station. Also based on the covert nature of his assignment he chose Ice to be his wingman. The young lifter was extremely gifted, and utterly emotionless in his bearing. He could be counted on not to concern himself with Holland's actions.

Sandman and Oldboy would be tackling the Stratton target, whilst Demon and Revenant struck the school.

Sandman was the newest member of the unit, and still itching for action. He was exuberant, passionate and full of promise, but Holland had seen to many young pilots who were exuberant, passionate and full of promise plead for their mothers whilst slowly drowning in blood and fuel in their own cockpits to allow the stripling to act without a tight leash. Hence he was paired with Oldboy or Revenant wherever possible.

Revenant was another older member, a cold and calculatingly unforgiving pilot. He was the definition of antisocial, and frequently insulted his fellow pilots. But he was a superb KLF fighter, and never put personal interests before mission objectives. He was Sandman's regular wingmate. Demon was also a passionate pilot, but the term that more ably described his style was brutal. He excelled at massed engagements and unsubtle missions. He was, however, a very trustworthy comrade, and a warrior who would give his life for his wingman. He just sometimes forgot to focus on the mission.

This was the 1st Mobile SOF Squadron, the military's pre-eminent fighting force. Each one was worth many of any other combatant, and they knew it. They had never let Holland down.

"That's right." Holland affirmed, "In fast, expend ammo, get out."

"Sounds good to me, boss." Demon opined over the comm. system his voice making clear that his appetite was whetted for a little combat, "I haven't had a chance to try out my new incendiary rockets."

"Oh yes. Do launch those expensive and completely unnecessary munitions at the target, I'm sure the logistic department will be ecstatic when they learn you wasted A-12 Infernos on a school building we can level with bolt fire." This voice was caustic, even over the comms, it would have made acid rain feel humiliatingly alkaline.

"Man Revenant, why you gotta spoil my fun, huh?"

"He has a point Demon. Don't waste those munitions." Oldboy cut in to avoid an argument, "You'll get plenty more chances to use them."

"Yeah, yeah. Confirmed."

Holland couldn't help but smile slightly at the utter lack of fear amongst his team. They bolstered each other to the point where little could penetrate their self-belief.

"Leader." Sandman spoke up, his young voice filled with an almost unholy enthusiasm, "We've just passed the hundred mile point, thirty miles to separation.

Sandman had adopted, for reasons Holland did not fully understand, the habit of calling his superior 'Leader' as opposed to sir or commander, or even Demon's 'boss.' Although he didn't mention it out loud, Holland found the habit oddly appealing to some peculiar part of his ego.

"Thanks for the heads-up." Holland paused momentarily to centre himself before entering full military mode, "Subteam B break-off right, Subteam C break left, Ice with me, good luck, good hunting, and the last one to reach rendezvous gets board cleaning duty."

Five affirmations came over the comm. and Holland checked his systems out of habit. It was time to do what he seemed to have been born to do.

* * *

The region's terrain was dominated by a set of interconnecting peaks, all rising from the plateau, the Trappar in the area was reasonably dense; forming violent eddies where the flat currents struck the upward flowing drafts at the base of the mountains. Most human settlement in the area were located between rises, almost immune to bombardment. D.U.M. must have considered their positions relatively safe as it would be difficult to imagine a strike force of KLF's navigating the sharp currents between the mountains. If the KLF flew too high it would be engaged by overwhelming amounts of small arms and stationary AA fire, so the only chance for an effective attack was to fly in the midst of the worst of the Trappar flows. Few pilots could manage to survive such a feat, and fewer still could do so whilst avoiding opposition detection and fire. 

Holland was in his natural element. From his earliest years he had loved lifting, the thrill, the skill and more than anything, the clarity of thought he found he could only achieve when he was giving his life to the movement of a challenging flow, feeling his thoughts and motions merge until he and the flow acted as one, moved as one. In moments like that, when everything seemed possible, when life was good, when his heart beat with the glorious rhythm of the planet, he ached to give this feeling to everyone.

If only every person could feel it, surely the world's troubles would cease. Surely.

It was Holland's secret prayer for mankind.

As he executed a flip turn around a corner that brought him inches from destruction he turned his attention to the ridges. He thought he saw something right...

"Commander, Scorpion Launchers on the ridge, my count is three." Ice reported without tone. Toneless was his usual tone, in all the time Holland had commanded him the younger man had never allowed anything to distract him from the objectives of his mission. This unfailing dedication made Ice an invaluable wingmate, especially adept at surveillance and reconnaissance.

"Evasive action, barrel-twist, you take the low road." Holland barked his command.

With the ease of consummate experts the two KLF aces smoothly entered a parallel roll, Ice travelling along the bottom whilst Holland used the updraft caused by the sudden movement of Ice's KLF to push his vehicle into a vertical rise along the mountain walls. With a squeal like a tortured pig, Holland sensed rather than saw, the trails of the three rockets as they spiralled through the air between his and Ice's locations. The average load time of a standard infantry rocket was about half a minute, depending on the person doing the firing. In this case Holland guessed that his opponents would probably be marginally slower than the norm, giving him ample time to neutralize them before they could fire again.

He felt a brief twinge of pity for his foes, they were already dead and they just didn't know it. Still travelling at full speed, the SOF commander shot up over the lip of the valley ridge, bringing the unfortunates directly into his line of fire. He took a second to target, a second in which he could see the looks of terror on the faces of the men at the emplacements, before annihilating the ridge with a blast from his shoulder-mounted cannon.

Not pausing Holland flipped around 180 degrees and returned to the trench.

"Only twelve miles to target." Ice notified his commander.

The day had just begun.

* * *

"Why Beccy?" Jarren's voice was strained with agitation as he stared plaintively at the comm. speaker through which he and Rebecca were talking. He hadn't seen her face in four days, not since Dr. Matthews of the Executive Council had given him orders to spread the D.U.M. message to the towns bordering the Contario plateau. It was an honour that he had been picked, but he had been loath to leave Beccy during such a difficult time. 

He could hardly believe, even now, that she was already six months pregnant.

"Sorry sweetheart, but I'm the only one who knows how to operate the modulator system, if I don't stay it would be impossible for Dr. Matthews to spread the message." Her tone was placating, and Jarren knew she was humouring his frustration as he was already aware of how needed his girl was to the movement, so he sighed heavily and tried to smile, forgetting for a moment that she could not see his gesture over the comm. channel.

It deprived him of one of his most effective tools of persuasion. Jarren was a very handsome man, and he knew it. His blonde hair was long at present, his fringe hanging over his forehead and eyes whilst the rest of his syrup golden crop hung loosely around his ears and down the base of his neck at the back. He usually wore it short, but with all the excitement of late he hadn't got the chance. His build was well-proportioned, and he had kept himself in good shape. He had never been very bright, and if not for his abilities of persuasion he would have probably been unremarkable to a girl like Beccy. She liked a guy who could give her a good conversation. Amongst other things.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. It just grinds me, you know? I really want to see you. And Maxi, how's he doing?"

Even through the static of the comm. channel Jarren could hear the maternal glow in her voice, "Just fine. The doctor says he's looking healthy and everything seems to be perfect. You should feel how much of a tantrum he can throw these days."

"Sounds like he takes after you then." Jarren commented was a smile, "I guess I'll have to learn how to put up with two handfuls of trouble, won't I."

"In your dreams!" She exclaimed in a voice that was somewhere between a scold and a laugh, "You're still such a liar."

"And you're still such a vixen. I can't wait to see you, love you."

"Love you to sweetheart. Be home soon."

Jarren waited a few moments before cutting the channel. His impatience was apparent from the acceleration of the car he was pelting down the road in, flying across the dirt road that linked the town of Kinear with the main road. At best he would be able to reach the station in three hours. It was infuriating that Beccy wouldn't be able to leave her post till sunset, but he promised himself that he would make the night compensate for it.

* * *

"Crossfire from the two roofs overlooking the target." Ice informed his superior with a detached calm, despite the veritable hail of fire being unleashed by the defenders, "Advise on action sir." 

"Break-off, draw their fire ventrally to allow me a shot through the perimeter." Holland ordered, manoeuvring his KLF between the streets, avoiding the worst of the weapons fire. Belatedly he cursed intel for not informing him that the D.U.M. compound possessed a reinforced superstructure, not to mention all the additional protective measures taken by the movement's engineers. They clearly knew what they were doing, Ice and his initial assault had proven ineffectual, and neither his energy blast nor Ice's missile salvo had managed to penetrate the building's armour from above. To make matters worse, after their failure the entire city's rooftop network had opened up like a swarm of pissed off hornets. The two had been forced to immediately drop altitude to prevent suffering critical damage. Put bluntly the situation was bad. But Holland had not become an SOF commander by letting a bad situation stop him from completing a mission, and he still had a few tricks to play.

As Ice shot through the gap between the two primary rebel locations, the defenders traced his trail with a sheet of bullets, rockets and energy blasts, forcing the ace to make a near-suicidal vertical dive, plummeting towards the city street below at breakneck speed. Even Holland would have been hesitant to pull such a dive; the G-force exerted would almost surely render him unconscious. For Ice however it was a natural move, his speciality being high-G manoeuvres, exceeding even Holland's capabilities at obscene speeds.

Now was not the time to appreciate his wingmate's skilful flying though, and Holland did not wait to see the result of his daring drop, he held back only long enough to make sure that the defenders two main Laser Cannons had discharged before breaking cover and pelting on foot down the city's main road, ignoring the small arms fire pattering off his armour.

_One...two...three...four...and... _

With a telltale hum the two Laser Cannons on the overlooking buildings recharged sufficient energy to fire, and on a snap decision between up or sideways, Holland followed his instincts and shot upwards, firing his jets at maximum. He watched the Laser blasts strike the surface of the street, liquefying the tar and incinerating the bystanders on the roadside.

_Fools_,he smirked in his cockpit, _had they any military sense they would have held back the one Cannon to fire at him after they determined the direction of his dodge_. Their mistake was his opportunity. With a lip flip that would have put any pro to shame he half skidded, half flew along the rooftops, just too low to be fired at and just high enough to catch a minimal amount of Trappar. As he reached the target he raised his board before him and spun 360 degrees vertically, waiting for his rotation to take him between the two defence structures and give him a clear shot underneath the target's reinforced top half. He allowed himself a brief moment of pride at the complexity of the move he had just pulled off, before unleashing the full power of his Laser Cannon against the building's vulnerable underside. The energy bolt lanced out, melting the pillars holding up the armoured dome, and cutting a straight path of ruin and death as the shot travelled through the structure before finally losing the last of its momentum and detonating in a devastating blast of high-energy particles and steel-melting heat.

This resulted in a gap within the building's superstructure, several support beams disappearing into oblivion. The structure may still have held, had it not borne the weight of many additional metric tons in steel plating on its upper storeys. With a great shuddering and terrible groaning the great reinforced dome snapped its own overstretched supports, and collapsed in on the very object it was intended to protect, causing the almost complete destruction of the entirety of the City Centre.

Holland, however, did not have time to admire his handiwork. The defensive Lasers were already recharged and the SOF commander found himself exposed to both directions. With a mental curse Holland prayed that Ice was in position as he swung his gun at the right hand building, unleashing a fusillade of arm-length bullets, forcing the crew to take cover, whilst a few of their unlucky comrades were literally blown to shreds by his firestorm.

The crew on the other building, outraged by the deaths being inflicted on their friends and companions, urgently aimed the Cannon at the murderous KLF that was preoccupied with eradicating the fire team on the other side of the road. The gunner took his aim and prepared to fire, Holland catching the telltale light flare of a Laser Cannon's discharge sequence in the corner of his eye, a cold fist of fear gripping his heart...

A flurry of missiles incinerated the left hand gun crew, Ice calmly landing atop the now corpse-strewn, blood-soaked roof, clinically treading on the survivors so as to avoid unnecessary waste of ammunition.

"Cut it closer next time, won't you!" Holland hollered, his voice just slightly hoarse with exertion from the last half-a-minute's worth of intense flying, "I thought speed was your forte!"

"Apologies Commander." Ice answered without emotion, now firing on the right hand rooftop to enable Holland to activate his jets and reach Ice's position. Once he reached it both the elite KLF pilots fired off their jets and shot upwards beyond the range of the arms directed at them. From that altitude Holland could see the plume of smoke rising from what had been the City Centre. He sat back in his seat and allowed himself to relax for a moment.

"Commander, reports from Oldboy and Revenant." Ice cut in, his tone betraying no released stress or fear.

"Alright, what's their status?"

"Revenant confirms target destruction. Minimal damage sustained, on escape vector." A pause followed, "Oldboy reports heavy resistance at target, but mission successful. Commander, be advised that Sandman received some structural damage, though not flight or combat critical." There may actually have been the slightest hint of disdain in Ice's voice harmonics as he informed Holland of Sandman's damage.

"Inform both groups that they should proceed to rendezvous coordinates."

"Yes Commander."

"And Ice, you shall proceed there yourself, and inform Oldboy to lead the squad back to Farlan Heights. I have additional objectives to fulfil."

If Holland's wingman had been Oldboy he would have enquired as to the nature of these additional objectives, in the interests of the squad's safety. Revenant would have asked out of paranoia, and Demon and Sandman would have begged to go with. But Ice was a different kind of individual.

"Yes Commander." The seemingly soulless young pilot repeated, and broke off towards the rendezvous without another word.

* * *

Holland flew in good time towards the last target. As he did he said a quiet word of apology for every innocent life he was about to take. The situation at the radio post was regrettable, terribly unfortunate, but the government had to do whatever was in its power to maintain peace and stability, and the message being sent by these dissidents was a direct threat to the authority of the establishment. It fell to a select group of men and women to take upon themselves the sins that the existence of a society required. Holland understood that he was one of those select few, and that even though he at times felt distaste for the tasks he had to perform, he had to be who he was, so that others didn't have to. 

Dewey had spoken with him at length about the true nature and interconnection of power, guilt and sacrifice. Without power society could not exist. Without guilt and sacrifice there is no power. The unavoidable result is that those who seek to preserve civilization must sacrifice and bear guilt in order to wield the power such preservation demands.

Holland could not always appreciate his brother's often intensely emotional views and philosophies, but he could appreciate the simple fact that despite the terrible burden of guilt and self-sacrifice he endured, Dewey's burden was infinitely greater. Holland merely did as he was instructed, Dewey had set himself the task of being the shield behind which society could endure; he did this without complaint, out of his own implacable choice.

At this time the sacrifice to be made was the lives of several loyal citizens, the guilt for their deaths should have lain on Holland, but Dewey was adept at taking the guilt of others upon his shoulders. Through this sacrifice Holland would wield the power to protect the civilization to which he had devoted the vast majority of his life.

Holland sighed to himself, emptying his mind of all these Dewey-like thoughts. He was a member of the SOF, a military asset of incomparable skill, following orders and completing objectives was his purpose. After all, he thought with a slight smile on his lips, it was all in a day's work.

* * *

Jarren was in a state of panic. A few moments ago he had received the news that the school building at which Dr Matthews had been educating aspiring devotees had been eradicated by a UF strike. He had listened in shock as Mr Sargent, the movement's head of security, informed them that Mr Matthews, along with ninety-eight others, had died in the attack. A matter of minutes later the news arrived that Mr Sargent had been killed, his stronghold in the Galilieo Valley reduced to a burned out husk. At the same time the message got out that the D.U.M. base in Stratton had been likewise obliterated. At all three sites the attackers had been identified as Special Operations Forces KLFs. 

To Jarren it felt as though the entire world had suddenly come apart. The combined attacks had gutted D.U.M., and left most of its leadership dead. He had been contemplating the magnitude of the situation when it struck him that only one major location remained in the movement's hands.

The radio station.

With horrifying certainty Jarren realised that this would surely be the Army's next target. In a panic that only a parent can achieve when his loved ones are threatened, he accelerated madly as he tried to reach Beccy and Maxi before...before...

He shook his head fiercely, fighting the ice and fire that were tormenting his insides. He spun around a corner, the mountains on both sides opening to reveal the transmission post. With a great swell of relief he saw that it was still intact.

A hysteria of happiness rose in his heart as he scrambled to open a channel to Beccy. He fumbled and dropped the speaker.

Cursing profusely he bent down under the dashboard of the vehicle and grasped for the item.

As he reached he heard a noise, a series of dull _thunk-thunks_, metal striking metal.

Confused he raised his head and at first saw nothing.

Then he noticed the object circling the site. A KLF!

As he realised this he saw the military machine fire its assault rifle at the building. With a lurch in this stomach he understood what noise he had been hearing.

Yet the structure held, the bolts doing little discernable damage that Jarren could see, but then, with the terrible slowness of a nightmare he watched the KLF charge its shoulder cannon.

In a flash, bright and dreadful, the radio post, Rebecca and Maxi, ceased to exist.

* * *

Mephiles: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it and please remember to leave a review and advice before you leave. The next chapter will be up very soon. 


	3. Leave Out All The Rest

Mephiles: The third chapter is up, and I hope you enjoy this one as much as the others. Please feel free to leave behind a review or constructive criticism and advice or suggestions are always appreciated. Now to thank those people who have already reviewed:

animegirl1o1: Thank you for the interest and support, and here is the update you were looking for, the next one will be up soon

Talhofan: Thank you very much and don't worry chapter 4 will mostly center around Talho and Holland. Also what is your take on Talho cheating on Dewey, and additionally if you could tell me any other suggestions concerning Talho and Holland's relationship

Automailijunkie44: Thank you very much for everything and I'm very glad you liked it

Ltscw: Thanks alot I hope you enjoy the next chapter as well, and all the ones to follow

* * *

Leave Out All The Rest

"So, what was this other objective of yours? Huh?" Sandman asked for the third time in two minutes, "Come on! Tell us!"

Holland sighed and turned to the youngster with his most intimidating "superior officer" look. The young man, barely nineteen, was momentarily taken aback, his dark eyes widening slightly before returning to their usual look of intense curiosity and mild humour.

He was a strangely conflicting boy in his appearance, his eyes very dark, but his hair bright yellow, his build tall, but his face kid-like. He was also strikingly effeminate, in looks but not in nature. When Holland had first been introduced to his then-new teammate, he had mistaken Sandman for a girl. Quite embarrassing for both the SOF pilots. He was an incorrigible individual, in much need of seasoning, a fact clearly evidenced by the simple truth that only Sandman, of all the Squadron, had sustained major damage to his KLF. Despite this he appeared entirely unashamed.

"Shut up Devin, by Adrock's balls you're annoying." Revenant languidly lashed at his fellow pilot, "I swear even the Scub can hear you."

"Easy Sergei, no need to bite his head off." Oldboy interrupted the conversation, "And he has a point Dev, give it a break. You should be more concerned with the hammering your KLF took during the mission."

"Yeah, yeah. Sure thing Cai." Devin shrugged and turned towards Demon.

"Whatever." Sergei smirked unapologetically.

* * *

Only Holland and Sergei, of the entire Squadron, could meet Oldboy's stare eye for eye, and the clinically efficient Sergei had something of an unspoken rivalry with the 1st Mobile's veteran pilot. The two men were similar only in that they were the oldest pilots in the team, although Sergei was almost twelve years Cai's junior. Where Revenant was a pale, sinewy man, with violent red hair and eyes like a sadistic undertaker, Caiphas was the only coloured individual on the squad, and only Demon was more physically imposing than the old man. He was of average height, but carried himself with such an air of justifiable confidence that he always seemed to be taller than everyone, barring Lt. Colonel Dewey, of course. He had a gaze that froze most people in their tracks, an effect only exaggerated by the grey beginning to spread through his beard and hair. Sergei, who despised the idea of being inferior to anybody, refused to unilaterally accept Cai's authority on a personal level. It was an example of the rivalry common within the SOF Mobile Squadrons, a competitive edge usual to any group who know themselves to be the best at what they do. Thankfully these rivalries where always secondary to the achievement of mission objectives, and hence served only to push the pilots to improve their skills even further.

Holland was fortunate in that only Charles, of the entire SOF, could claim to be near him in ability, and even then, Holland was considered almost unanimously to be the finest pilot of KLFs in the world. It was a laurel that placed him above almost all rivalry, other than Charles' of course. The Commander of the 2nd Squadron was forever seeking to overtake his friend as the best of the best of the best.

All this scarcely mattered to Holland, who had long since made it is goal to achieve nothing as petty as a status or award, but rather he wished to gain the respect of his brother, an entirely more difficult prospect.

* * *

The debriefing was unexceptional, as most of the SOF debriefings tended to be. There are only so many ways to say "Mission Successful," but the Command felt obliged to provide all their pilots with the wonder of hour-long debriefing sessions. Holland blamed the people at Intelligence for it.

Halfway through the Information Major's monologue, a surprise entry jerked the various members of the team out of their different ways of coping with debriefings. Sandman woke up with a start, spittle running down the side of his mouth, Demon stopped hypnotising himself by flexing each of his hand muscles in turn, Sergei (who had mastered sleeping with his eyes open) didn't appear to react at all, whilst Caiphas, who honestly had the patience to sit through a whole debriefing merely adjusted his position in his seat. Holland cleared his head of thoughts centred on the concepts of guilt, sacrifice and the cost of leadership, and looked up. Not a single muscle moved on Ice's face.

The target of this attention was Miss Yuki, who walked into the room and took a place next to the Major as if she owned it. The room, not the Major. Although the way he was looking at her indicated he wouldn't have minded terribly if she had. Holland could almost hear Devin salivate behind him.

With a bow at the goggling Major she addressed her audience, "Sorry terribly for the interruption, but I have an urgent message for Commander Novak from Lt. Colonel Novak."

"Of course! Go on my head...I mean go ahead! Ahead!" the Major spluttered, sending Demon and Sandman into fits of laughter.

"I think I'll do the latter." The secretary bowed again with an enormous smile on her face. She turned to face the 1st Mobile. After a seconds survey she turned to Holland.

"The Lt. Colonel wants to see you for a special debriefing after the end of the general debrief."

Holland grimaced, knowing that there could only be one thing about which Dewey would need a special debrief.

"I'll be there." He answered, nodding at Miss Yuki.

"I'll inform him immediately." She replied, "And my apologies for interrupting you Major Lassier." This was said with a knowing smile on her face, and left Lassier with a bright blush. She gave the room one more look over before walking out, seemingly oblivious to the six pairs of eyes watching her swaying rear as she left.

Holland blinked and returned his attention to the Major, who stared for a few more breathes in some fantasy, before coming to with a start, and returning his attention to the debrief, albeit in an altogether less confident way than he had began.

Behind Holland he heard Sandman's voice, whispering to Demon,

"Now that's one hot piece of ass, no mistake!" Devin profused, unrepentant pubescent want rich in his tone.

"She's a tasty morsel for sure." Demon agreed with a nod of respect for the boy's good choice, "Got a nice set of legs, tight ass, ample breasts, face isn't bad, all in all a really great catch. 'specially considering that scanky attitude of hers."

"Know just what you mean man. I can just imagine all the things I'd do to that body."

Demon chuckled good-naturedly and slapped his compatriot on the back, "Good to see you've got a healthy appetite lad. Sorry to say though, but that one's out of your league."

"How do you figure?"

"She's the Lt. Colonel's girl; I don't think she's into kids like you."

"Hey! Just to let you know, girls love younger men." Devin gave the older man a smirk, "It's old has-beens who can't get it up anymore that they avoid."

"Can't get it up is it!" Demon responded threateningly, "I'll have you know that last leave I nailed a pair of twins simultaneously, match that and I'll think 'bout respecting you opinions about lovemaking."

"You're showing your age! Who's talking about 'love-making'?" the last word was drawled out to make it sound girly and ridiculous, "I don't 'make love' I fuck girls! And not the grannies like I'm sure those twins were, but young and strong specimens who can leave you ragged after a good night."

Demon paused for a moment and then gave a half-smile, "Good comeback kid, but for the record they weren't grannies." Another pause, "In fact I think one may have been borderline underaged." Demon finished ruefully.

"No worries man. A little dabble in the kiddie pool never hurt anyone." Sandman waved his hand dismissively, "But back to Miss Yuki. Perhaps we could get her with a little co-operation. Know what I mean?"

Demon narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, "Don't know 'bout that so much lad, never been big on sharin' anything. Jus not my nature."

"It's not normally mine either, but come-on! For a pay-off like that I'd be willingly to bend myself a little! Anyways, I heard that she's quite the legend among the Information officers. They say she once handled four blokes together."

"Probably just a story," Demon shook his head uncertainly, "But I guess considerin' that she's been with the big Boss doin' a co-op 'aint such a bad idea." Demon suddenly smiled and gave an involuntary chuckle, "We could pull off a nice double-whack I heard it can make girls go hoarse 'cause they scream so much an' so loudly!"

Before Sandman could respond to this wonderfully fascinating piece of information, Oldboy reached from his seat behind them and unceremoniously banged their heads together.

"Shut up! For the love of the Sages, you two sound like ten year olds with your first erections! Have a little maturity." The veteran admonished his fellow pilots, who muttered for a moment before falling silent.

Holland, who had been avidly listening despite himself, felt mildly relieved that Cai had handled the pair so he didn't have to. Old Holland may have found the idea of banging the oversexed little secretary intriguing, but at this moment all it did was make him think of Diane, and bring back all the hurt that had been somewhere in the back of his mind since he entered his SOF mode. _I guess Dewey was right. As always. Work does focus and clear my thoughts._ He thought to himself.

* * *

"Good to see you again Holland, take a seat." Dewey gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk, Holland choosing the same one he always chose when he came to speak to is older brother.

The Lt. Colonel turned his prematurely aged face at Holland after he sat down, his demeanour one of an exhausted man, Holland judged he must have worked intensely through the night to fall into a state like this. It wasn't unknown for Dewey to work himself to excessive degrees, but it was always intimidating to imagine how much strain the Lt. Colonel must have borne in order to be reduced to such a level of weariness.

Dewey's desk was covered with various maps and strategic layouts, the kind of material Holland expected to find on the desk of perhaps the army's most critical commander. What surprised him was the large text lying open in the centre of the workspace, which had clearly taken the primary attention of the man who worked there. It was a dense volume, a book with a thick hard cover and worn pages. Holland leaned over to try and discern the name if the book, but just as he focussed on the title at the top of the page, Dewey deftly shut the text and withdrew it from atop the desk, turning to look at Holland with a raised eyebrow.

"Something that interests you?"

Holland flinched inwardly at the subtle rebuke, "Merely over-curious, sir."

"No such thing as over-curious Commander. Remember that." The Lt. Colonel's gaze went from scolding to gentle, "More crucially, your report on the attack against the relay."

Dewey possessed a great talent for driving all thoughts other than mission goals from Holland's mind, a fact which Holland would have been tremendously thankful for, had Dewy not driven all thoughts other than mission goals from his mind. Irony can be a serious killer.

"It went well. The target proved to be reinforced, though nowhere near as well fortified as the three primaries, and was proof to my bolt fire. It was incapable however of withstanding my Laser Cannon blast. The site was annihilated, no survivors. Sir.'

"Unfortunate that no other action could be taken to avoid the sacrifice of those innocents, but the needs of the many must outweigh the needs of the few. You must not dwell on the event."

"I will not." Holland replied, not a tremor of falsehood in his voice.

"Good. That is why I chose you; it takes the strong and the capable to do what must be done for the good of all." Dewey nodded with a grim but benevolent smile on his face.

_That is why I chose you. Because you are strong and capable.

* * *

_

Not because you are my brother. Never that. It was how Dewey functioned, Holland thought to himself, the hurt that he had felt as a younger man against his brother's apparent lack of special affection for him having been long replaced by a deep respect for the unbiased nature of his sibling's decision making processes. It was a respect that Holland wished to earn in return, by being the tool his brother needed him to be, unflinching, undoubting, loyal-unto-death. Perhaps the only feeling that played anywhere near as dramatic a role in shaping his actions and choices had been Diane's love and philosophies. But those were no longer part of his life. Diane had effectively killed Holland the man, who sought to love and be loved, sought to be free and true to the feelings of oneness he felt in his heart whenever he moved close to the world's breathing core. Now he was only Holland the SOF pilot, who sought to win and always win, sought to be respected by the man who embodied to him all that was best about mankind.

It was a deep shift in his very heart of hearts, one about which he was unaware. But the ramifications of that shift were all-encompassing. He would become the perfect implement of his brother's will, and leave out all the rest of himself, because Dewey was the only person who deserved such devotion.

* * *

"On a different note, Holland, I could not help to notice that your emotional condition upon this visit is considerably less ominous than our last encounter."

Holland grunted.

"Could you think of a possible reason for this fact?" The older of the two silver-haired men asked with an apparently open face. Holland, however, knew Dewey well enough to know that his brother wanted confirmation of something he had already taken to be true. Annoyingly, as usual with Dewey, it was.

"It's easier for me to function when I'm out on assignment." Holland confessed, bowing his head slightly, "Guess you were right, I should focus on work to help get over the fact that... well... you know."

"Indeed." Dewey assented, "These things happen, and only by facing, accepting and learning from each trial we encounter do we improve ourselves and the general disposition of mankind."

Holland just nodded, his urge to rage at Dewey for taking such a high-brow view of the situation becoming dangerously strong.

"But your private matters are your own. Just do not allow it to affect your mission capabilities, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Then one last thing." Dewey leaned back and Holland could swear he literally heard each vertebrae snap back into place as the tall man straightened himself, "Do you imagine Miss Yuki would prefer red or blue for her gown to the Officer's Meet?"

Holland felt his teeth grate again. The bastard wasn't even being subtle about it, which was so like him. Why did he think Holland would have any idea what Miss Yuki would look good in, he wasn't the prick banging the little bitch was he? No! He had no-one to get in bed with. Was Dewey doing this on purpose? It would be entirely unlike him to do so.

"If I may ask..." Holland started, fighting a losing battle to keep the aggression out of his words, but Dewey cut in with a placating tone, "I merely ask you because you have always had better eyes than me when it involves women's clothing likes. I mean not ill."

The magnanimous prick had a point, of course, and Holland pursed his lip to bite back an illogical but very virulent retort, giving the matter a little thought "Go blue." He answered after a little time, "It will work in contrast, and therefore draw attention to, her eyes and hair." _And bec__ause the last thing she needs__ to__ do is__ wear red and look even more like a total slut._

"Thank you. You are dismissed Commander."

* * *

Jarren didn't want to live.

He didn't want to breathe or think or feel.

All he wanted was to undo the three seconds that had cost him every single thing he had held truly dear to his heart.

He didn't want to live.

He was bent over, hunched to deformity, tears running relentlessly down his face as he sobbed into the filthy, merciless, earth. He raised his head and wailed a howl of anguish drawn from the depths of his soul, but the uncaring clouds and sky did not offer any reprieve.

Pictures flooded his mind; no matter the efforts he exerted to dam the tide, every one of Beccy's smiles, every laugh, and every tear. The light in her eyes when they had lifted together, the gasps when they had moved as one.

Then a new deluge, hopes and dreams of Maxi and the life that had been stolen from him, rose within Jarren's tormented conscious. He would never know the volume of love his father held for him, could never learn how cherished, how special and important he is.

The thoughts soured as they arose, how could Maxi's existence have been important if the world, without even a whisper of regret, could erase him from life.

He wanted to curl up and for it all just to end. Despair welled in him and the engulfing sea of desire for release was claiming his heart.

He half-walked, half-dragged himself to the vehicle, and once there began looking for his sidearm, Mr Sargent had advised that all members of the group should go armed. Like any of it helped, Jarren lashed out at the deceased man he had held in such high regard. As he scrounged he reached down and felt the weapon's grip with his fingers. A dark smile came to his face as he withdrew it, checking to see if the clip was loaded.

It wasn't.

Enraged Jarren rose in fury, only to smash the back of his head against something protruding from the dash of his car.

Spitting obscenities he prepared to destroy the offending object, his camera rig, but as he reached for it he froze.

The device was still recording.

A spark of something different began to burn in his core, small at first, but indomitable, unquenchable. And it was growing.

His expression became terrible as his thoughts focussed in on a single concept that could give him purpose.

Vengeance.

* * *

"Congratulations on a successful outing, Holland." Charles smiled broadly as he ordered Holland another round, ignoring Ray's reproachful look, "Heard your team didn't even get scratched."

"Thanks, but actually Sandman, my newest guy, not sure if you know him yet, managed to get some dents in his ride, apparently from a collision with a building that couldn't get out of his way in time."

"Never thought it was a good idea to bring kids into the SOF." Charles frowned, his face becoming serious, "Sure they're all really skilled, but the lack of experience...well...we're not playing out there."

"How old is the boy?" Ray asked.

"Probably 'bout twenty, maybe a little younger." Holland realized to his chagrin that he wasn't entirely sure of Devin's age.

"Little more than a child. What a terrible world that forces children to fight and kill." Ray's voice was tremulous with heartfelt distress at the idea.

_Ironic, _Holland thought to himself, _Ray is one of the coldest killers in Special Operations, __but sometimes the women in her was painfully clear to see._

Charles engulfed her in one of his great big bear hugs, and kissed the top of her head, "No-one is forced to join the SOF Ray, and besides, shouldn't any child with the ability be allowed to fight for their own freedom, earn it with their own blood."

"Not beg for it, get it by your own hands, the true cost and meaning of freedom." Holland quoted Adrock.

The phrase had become something of a motto to the pilots of the SOF Mobile Squadrons, even to the new members who had never known Adrock as anything other than a near-mythical messianic figure. Holland felt it was important that Adrock's contribution to the formation of the elite fighting unit should never be forgotten; it allowed these special fighters to respect the institution that so often asked them to give their all.

"I know, I know." Ray gave a faltering smile at the two men, "but it remains a terrible thing."

The two SOF Commanders just nodded. A silence fell between the three, and for a few heartbeats the mood became awkward.

"So...Charles," Holland began, trying to revive the conversation, "when are you and yours going to stop sitting on your asses?"

"Soon enough. Don't you worry Holland." Charles assured his friend, "Got a mission to see to some group of insurgents over in Teranika, meant to be a group of Vodarak."

"Religious nutcases, every one." Holland declared vehemently, "Have no respect for the structure of human life."

"Yeah." Charles nodded with a grimace on his face, examining his beer with extra attention.

"Holland, do you think anybody on your team is in danger at the next Trials?" Ray asked, leaning on Charles' broad shoulder and running a hand along his leg.

"No. Wouldn't think so." Holland shrugged, "Even my weakest flyer is a real ace. What about you guys in the 2nd Mobile?"

"We're looking fine at the moment." Ray gave wink, "In fact, during our last exercise run we topped the 1st Mobile's record time."

"You did not!" Holland jerked back, honestly surprised, "That time was excellent!"

"Perhaps, but ours was even more excellent!" Charles declared with a huge delighted smile on his face.

"We'll have to see about that. My squad better be ready for some hard drilling."

"That's the spirit! This time give us in the 2nd a real target to aim for!"

"Charles, you...!" Holland gestured threateningly at his only real rival.

"Now, now! Easy boys." Ray interjected, cutting off the likely argument to follow, "Holland who are you taking to the Officer's Meet." The foxy-looking women quickly raised her hands in a placating motion as she continued, "I mean I know it must be difficult with Diane having left so recently and all, but the SOF Commanders should have a partner."

Holland stared at her vacantly for a few seconds, his mind digesting the question, and wondering by what feminine strangeness Ray could possible have her mind on the Officer Meet during a discussion like this.

"Well...I guess I'll find somebody." He stuttered hesitantly.

"No worries Holland!" Charles roared as he was wont to do, "Just leave the entire issue to me."

_Great_. Holland was just dying to know exactly how Charles intended to take care of everything.

"Come on and drink something!" Charles continued and signalled for another round.

* * *

Holland got back to his room very late and very, very drunk. He managed to open the door in about thirty minutes, not a bad time considering the keyhole was dodging him more skilfully than a skyfish.

His mind was a blur as he fell down fully clothed on his bed, asleep well before he even hit the covers.

His dreams were filled with Diane stripping down from various red dresses, as Devin and Demon provided running commentary.

* * *

Mephiles: I hope you enjoyed this one and please feel free to leave me a review and, as always, suggestions and advice are always appreciated


	4. Self Centred

Mephiles: And the next chapter is now up, I hope you all enjoy this one and thank everyone for your support and reviews, they have all been duly noted. Please review and comment on this chapter as well and I hope you enjoy it

* * *

Self-Centred

"Oh Holland!" the women exclaimed as the younger Novak thrust himself deeper into her, holding her legs apart as wide as he was able. Again and again he entered and withdrew, feeling the walls of his lover's insides with each fantastic motion.

Diane cried out as he removed his hands from her ankles and began kneading her erect breasts, bending forward to tease her nipples with his teeth and tongue. She cried out for release, but Holland was not willing to let her off so easily.

She had left him, now she was going to repay that debt. He was employing no subtlety in his fornication, was taking no effort to please the person whose body he was invading. This was a matter of self-satisfaction, in effect a display of dominance and unapologetic masculine sexual force.

As he drove he heard, as if from a distant place, the sound of Diane calling his name,

"Holland! Holland! Holland!" Serving only to amplify is ardour and is frenzy.

"Holland! Holland!"

...But the voice sounded different than Diane's, more like someone else...

...more like...Talho's...

* * *

Suddenly Holland looked down and found that instead of Diane's it was Talho's body he was ravaging. She was smiling and beckoning him, inviting him to continue.

After a second's hesitation Holland was startled to realise that he was happy to do so.

This realization caused him to jerk involuntarily...

...and promptly bang his head on the floor as he rolled of his bed where he had fallen asleep the previous night.

He had a brief moment of clarity to grasp that everything had been a dream, and that he had an enormous erection, before the hangover assaulted his senses and mauled his mind.

"Holland Novak!" Came a new invasion against his brain, each word a laser blast of scintillating prismatic pain, as he heard Miss Yuki calling him agitatedly from the door of his room.

"What?" he slurred with a groan as he tried to get up and get to the door, thankful in the perverse way that only an extremely hung over man can be that he hadn't undressed the previous night.

"It's almost midday commander." Her voice was annoyingly logical and smug, "Time for everyone to be up and about."

He merely grunted in response and opened his door, realising too late as he did so that he hadn't showered or anything and probably stank heavily of sweat and alcohol. This would all have been alright, it was to be expected considering the night he had, but the urgent swell between his legs was going to be a point of interest.

Sure enough...

"Well commander." Miss Yuki raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down, Holland feeling the blood rush to his face as her gaze lingered on the space he had feared it would.

It didn't help that images of dream-Talho, all desire and sexual promise, were constantly running through his mind, "You seem to have had an interesting night."

"What'd ya want?" Holland asked bluntly, his tongue still not fully obeying his brains instructions with regards to word formation.

"The Lt. Colonel wants you to escort me off base." Upon saying this, the young women's tone became sharply sceptic, "But I guess I'll have to report you weren't in a state to take me."

Holland's mind took a full four seconds to register that sentence before he grasped its significance.

She couldn't be allowed to tell Dewey about this! The man worked non-stop through night and day! How would Holland ever get back his respect if his brother discovered he had slept till midday in a drunken binge?

_SHIT_ Holland swore mentally, cursing little Miss Yuki for forcing him into this difficult position.

"No! No, I'm fine. Really. Just give me a moment to get ready."

She looked him in the eyes disbelievingly, but shrugged and gestured for him to get to it.

Holland promptly closed the door, took three steps to the shower, realised what he'd just done and walked back and opened the door again.

"Sorry." He exclaimed hollowly in the face of her apparent indignation at having the door slammed in her face.

"Just go shower!" she pointed angrily, "You smell like something from the inside of a Vodarek's robes! And that thing in your pants is giving me the creeps!"

* * *

Whilst in the shower Holland tried to focus and formulate his thoughts more clearly. According to the rules of the base no member of the personnel who wasn't a commissioned Officer could leave the perimeter of the Farlan Heights without an escort from amongst the commissioned Officers. These rules were to ensure secrecy and prevent leaks. Such rules applied to all stations were the SOF operated from, and the general staff was allowed two periods of leave from the base each year, but other than that the area was intended to be kept cut off from the outside.

Miss Yuki was, of course, a non-commissioned Officer, a person who holds an Officer rank, but does not have a direct loyalty commission to the UF government. Dewey must have been to busy to take her, and so had told her that Holland, who Dewey knew had no assigned mission, would be able to escort her. Dewey could be hatefully presumptuous sometimes.

He pushed that out of his mind for the moment and directed his attention to his bigger problem. It had been many years since Holland had woken up hard, though he wasn't new to the experience. The problem was that he was having difficulty not thinking about the fact that half the cause of his condition was currently standing in his room.

_Deep breathes, deep breathes, _he told himself as he tried to think about anything other than Diane, Miss Yuki, sex or women in general.

For a guy this is some mean feat.

* * *

"Ready?" the dark-haired girl asked mockingly when Holland finally came back into the main room, smelling better and lacking his third leg. His head was still an abstract painting of torment, but like most women, Miss Yuki seemed singularly unsympathetic with this fact.

"Yeah, I'm ready. Where do you need to go?"

"Isn't that apparent?" her voice was incredulous, "The Officer's Meet is in a matter of days!"

"Shopping!"

Holland groaned audibly.

* * *

The two drove from the base towards the nearest Tower City, approximately thirty kilometres away. For the first ten neither seemed especially interested in talking to the other, and the ride was silent, save for Holland's muffled curses every time he ran over a pothole, causing his head to burst into fresh bouts of suffering.

_I'll never drink again damn it!_ He swore to himself, a promise he had often made. It was a point of humour to Charles that Holland was unable to cope well with heavy drinking; even Ray could drink him under at times. This didn't particularly bother him, considering that Dewey didn't drink at all, save when etiquette demanded it of him. If Dewey didn't do it, there had to be some justification in not doing it.

"So," Miss Yuki began abruptly, still looking straight ahead, "did you have a good night, I'm guessing so by your state this morning."

"Well..." Holland started,

"Or can't you remember it?" She cut in brightly.

"Well..."

"Dewey told me you weren't on good terms with drink, said that you tend to binge."

"Umm, well..."

"Because it's really not a good habit, and Dewey realised that the behaviour is spreading to the rest of the SOF, and that maybe he should do something about it, what do you think?"

"I thin..."

"'Cause I think it's a pretty good idea, but the men will obviously protest..."

"HEY!" Holland barked, indignant at the way she was talking roughshod over his sentences.

"It's very rude to interrupt other people when their talking, you know." She scolded him and crossed her arms.

Holland sighed and slipped lower in his chair. There was no way he was going to win today.

* * *

Jarren hadn't slept at all, the need for it seemingly gone from his mind. Feverishly he had copied and watched the footage captured on his camera, biting back the gall of despair with an inferno of hate.

Jarren knew that the radio station had been occupied primarily by staff still loyal to the cursed Sages, that the KLF who had murdered his family had also slaughtered an entire host of innocent loyalists. Sick and corrupt as the UF was, even they would balk if this information ever came to light, weakening the Army's already terminally flimsy claim at moral superiority in the eyes of the masses. The Army could not allow that to happen, would have to react if they thought the information may be dispersed.

His lips twisted in a gruesome parody of the smile he would never be able to have again. With this as blackmail, if he played the situation carefully, he would be able to avenge the callous killing of Beccy and Maxi.

As morning came he began driving towards the city of Gremicow, he knew a man there who would be able to make his plan a reality.

It was only a matter of time.

* * *

Holland and his charge spent no less than four hours moving between the stores and shops in the City's primary shopping district. By the end of the first hour Holland would gladly have engaged the entire Vodarek movement in a Scud Bike if it would mean escape.

After Miss Yuki's frenzy had settled she suggested that the stop by a local place to catch break and get something to drink. Holland, pleased that at least they had stopped asking prices in five stores only to wind up buying from the first, agreed.

The two found a suitable place and got seated, Holland asking for water to Miss Yuki's amusement, whilst to his amazement she ordered herself a beer. He was still blinking back his surprise at her choice, when she decided it was time to permanently break the ice between them.

"You're a real fountain of charm aren't you?" Miss Yuki noted sarcastically.

"Just don't have very much to say." Holland replied with a shrug, trying his level best to maintain a professional demeanour.

"Geez. You're the leader of the SOF 1st Mobile, how can you not having anything to say?"

"Like what Miss Yuki? What could..."

"Don't call me that!" she cut in sharply, "Call me Talho, we're not on base. I'm seeing your brother, you know that, so why do you want to be all uptight around me?"

"This is how I act!" Holland retaliated, his annoyance with Miss Yu...Talho...growing.

"Exactly! Why are you acting all the time? Around me, around your squad, around Dewey, acting, acting, acting! Why?"

Her question was emotive, and Holland found himself flustered for words in a way he did not usually experience outside of Dewey's presence. What was she talking about, acting? Everyone acted, to greater or lesser degrees.

"Because it's who I am! It's what the SOF needs its commanders to be." he answered angrily.

"I guess that's why Miss Thurston couldn't take anymore of you then, she probably wanted a lover, not an SOF machine. No doubt that's the reason you have no prospective partners to the Officer's Meet, huh?"

Holland seethed with rage and hurt at this, and lashed out at the woman across from him, "Talk about me! Little Miss Watch-my-ass! What about you then! Why do you act? What's your excuse for all that flirting and purposeful flaunting? So maybe I'm act like a machine, at least I don't act like a whore!"

Talho furrowed her brow and looked away for a moment. Holland began feeling bad about what he had said, and was about to attempt an apology when she responded, her tone far more ironic than fierce, more introspective than defensive. It was the most vulnerable he had ever seen her.

"I guess everyone learns to become the products of their environment, don't they? It's not easy for a woman like me to find a place in society where my appearance doesn't dictate the way men behave towards me. Does anyone care to ask about my qualifications? Or my strategic opinions? Hell! Does anyone see an Intelligence Officer when I walk into a room, or just a set of walking breasts?"

She took a deep gulp of her drink

"So yeah, I act overly sexual. I take advantage of the fact that guys are easily taken in by behaviour like that. So what. It's their fault for being so pig-headed about sexy women in the workplace to start with. Their fault for typecasting any good-looking female secretary to be a whore."

Holland was at a loss for words, after all, had he not thought exactly that of her when he had first seen her?

With nothing to say he simply maintained an unfocused gaze on the venting women.

She responded by leaning in slightly and narrowing her eyes, "What're you thinking?"

"That maybe you're right. Maybe I... maybe everybody does judge you unfairly from your first impression. I will try not to do it in future."

She smiled, moving back, "At least that'll make two of you."

"The other being Dewey I suppose?"

"Of course," Her smile gave way to a strange look, one Holland couldn't translate, "Dewey never judges people like that. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about when I say that he has an ability to make you feel as if you have some special place in his general plan."

"As if you have a role to play, and he can help you to fulfil it." Holland agreed, remembering the way his brother had motivated him to out Diane out of his mind, even if only for a moment.

"That kind of ability is very rare. It makes the men who serve him into fanatics, makes everything he does seem right and ideal. It can be quite intimidating for a person who gets close to him." Talho turned fully toward Holland as she said this, "Once again, I guess as his brother you know what I mean."

Holland grimaced as he thought about his 'brotherly' bond with Dewey. Did Talho feel the same way in her role as Dewey's lover? Both close and distant every second. As if although he cares for you, you must know that there is a goal beyond you that he will give his all to achieve, and that even his feelings and compassion for you he will willingly sacrifice to do what he believes must be done.

Perhaps it was even more difficult for a woman like Talho to be close to a man like that than it was for a brother. At least he, as a man, could work for Dewey's respect from an objective angle, but for a woman it is impossible to win a man's love objectively, it requires a deep twining of understanding, or else love is merely a construct of physical desire and misconceived projections of one's own idealized concepts of love. Holland found it difficult to imagine the kind of women it would take to truly connect with Dewey.

As suddenly as a lightning strike he felt a swell of sympathy for the vulnerable young women sitting across from him, who had decided to try and be a partner to a man like Holland's brother.

The moment lingered in the air for a while.

"So what's it like being with Dewey?" Holland asked, flinching at the questions awkwardness even as he asked it.

Talho smiled knowingly and tapped the side of her nose, "What kind of question is that to ask, Holland? Want to know if your brother can cope under the covers?"

"Well, no...I just thought..."

She broke out into a squall of laughter, and at that time Holland saw the early signs of intoxication in her eyes, "Yeah, it's alright. Dewey is a really intense and considerate lover. I have no complaints with that aspect of the relationship. The problem is that I feel like I don't really know him, don't understand what drives him, what makes him work for days and nights on end." This last point was accompanied by an exhalation of breathe that bespoke a deep well of frustration at this distance she was describing, "Ah, well."

"He isn't the easiest man to be close to. I know that." Holland agreed wirily, "It's ironic that somebody who makes you feel so loved for can feel so closed off."

"Whatever." Talho shrugged, moving a few strands of hair out of her face and signalled for the waiter to bring the bill.

"Do you really care for Dewey?" Holland asked, fingering the rim of his glass.

She gave him a sharp, interrogative look, eyes flashing, "Yeah I do. Why, huh? Think somebody like me doesn't know when she actually cares for some one? Think that I'm just in it for material gain, huh? Bastard!"

With this she rose and stalked to the door, her demeanour so intimidating that even a group of three large men submissively gave her right of way.

Holland sighed. He did not have patience to deal with this woman's emotional issues. He had his own emotional issues to deal with, damn it! Why did people always have to make everything about them? Absolutely infuriating!

And on top of it all he was left to pay the bill.

* * *

When he went out to the car she was standing, arms crossed, leaning on the bonnet, irritation emanating from her almost palpably.

She said not a word as the two got into the vehicle and began driving back.

As the time past Holland found himself thinking about Diane again, wondering if she was alright, rehearsing all the things he would say, or should have said, to the only girl he had ever honestly loved. He had given her his all, more than he had given anyone except perhaps Dewey. But despite his intensity of feeling, there had always been a gulf between them, a barrier around Diane's innermost thoughts that she refused to drop, whether in the aftermath of an argument or during pillow talk after love. Was that what Talho was experiencing? That same insufferable situation?

Holland looked over at Talho, and tried to look at her as a person, and not as a 'pair of walking breasts.'

She was staring out the window, chin supported up in the palm of her hand. Her other arm was hugging herself around her waist, and her eyes were troubled and contemplative in a way far too intense for a girl of her age.

_Barely an__ adult..._Ray would say. In many ways Holland guessed the SOF's number one female pilot had a point. How fair was it that this young women found herself in a position where she was forced to become painfully aware of the realities of life in the worst possible sense. An Information Officer assigned to the SOF, the single most ruthless division in the Army.

For a moment Holland was furious at his brother for exploiting someone like Talho. Dewey being who he was, both as a person and as her superior officer, it was more a matter of concubinage than of a relationship for him to have her affections. And yet...

He looked at her once more, noted the defiance in her bearing, the strength of conviction that seemed to radiate out from her every movement and word. She was no simple victim, no deluded cooed. She must honestly believe she loves him and that in his own way, he loves her back. For Holland to question that must have seemed to her to be a severe attack on whatever honour and integrity the Army allowed her to keep.

"I'm sorry about asking that question. It was a stupid thing to ask." Holland declared, the words sounding uncomfortable and foreign coming from the mouth of a man that rarely apologised to anyone.

"Forget about it." She remained unmoving but turned an eye towards him, "It was important for me to be reminded that my situation is far from ideal or normal. I have a feeling that things are going to get much more difficult before they get any better."

Holland, not sure how to respond, nodded slightly.

"And I'm sorry about not really being very considerate about your problems relating to Miss Thurston. I was sorry to hear she left. It must be hard."

"It is." Holland saw no reason to lie.

"But I think you're a good man, you know. Funny thing to say I guess, but true anyway. Dewey thinks very highly of you. I would want us to be friends."

"I understand that."

"Good. Then the first thing I'll do as your friend is get you a partner to this Officer's Meet, sound good?"

"Actually I thi..." He began.

"Great, I'll just need to find out who's still available and..."

"Hey wait a..."

"...organise a meeting so that you to can get acquainted and..."

Holland's head sank down until it was between his shoulder blades.

_The__re__ really was no way he was going to win today.

* * *

_

Jarren reached Gremicow late in the night, and made his way to the sleaze districts in the most rundown portion of the City.

Most people would have been cautious, if not downright fearful, of travelling through this area. Like most Tower Cities Gremicow had a large destitute population, most of them refugees fleeing the geological disasters that had occurred during the tumultuous and catastrophic events of the Summer of Love. Having lost their livelihoods and their homes, these desperate groups formed undesirable sects within the most disreputable regions of the settlement. For the most part unemployed, women turned to menial work or prostitution, where as the men, especially the younger ones, turned increasingly to extremist factions of the Vodarek movement, or to the service of the criminal cartels and syndicates who where flourishing in the prevalent atmosphere of hopelessness and desperation that seemed to be engulfing every Tower City. They were men who would kill for the smallest material gain, to whom the value of human life was very low indeed. But Jarren was incapable of feeling any fear at all. At one point a small gang of toughs moved into his path, looks of thuggish glee on their faces. They motioned for Jarren to stop the vehicle, brandishing a selection of crude weapons, and one carrying an old pistol. But their expectant looks turned quickly panicky as Jarren, the same horrific smile on his face, drew his weapon and opened fire on them without hesitation, the gun armed man sagging to the floor as bright red flares burst in his chest. He tried to rise only to find himself in the path of the still moving car. Jarren did not bother to slow the car as he charged directly into him, the body crunching satisfyingly under the wheels. The rest of the gang fled in terror at this, although Jarren was entirely oblivious to them anyway. At that moment all that mattered to him was the plan. Revenge the only thought in his mind. He spared not a moment's consideration for the man he had killed, but continued driving.

He reached his destination without incident after this. It was a small house, more like a shack, unremarkable at first appearance. But a closer inspection revealed that the structure had three separate power lines routed into it, and that the building was surrounded by sets of security cameras. Jarren brazenly walked to the front door and knocked.

After a considerable wait, during which time Jarren knocked twice more, swearing loudly at the occupant to open up, the door opened a crack and a voice that reminded one of a strangled cat whined at Jarren, "What the fuck you want Jarren man! It's bloody late! SL8 needs his sleep!"

"Shut up Steven. How would you like to fuck the Army over?" Jarren enticed, moving the tape in his hand in front of Steven/SL8's face.

"What's on it?" The computer whizz asked, obscene curiosity in his voice.

"Revenge, Steven. My fucking revenge."

* * *

Mephiles: Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it, please remember to leave a review and comment, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyd it. The next chapter will be up shortly 


	5. Left Outside Alone

**Mephiles: Sorry for the wait, but I have been extremely busy with work currently so I haven't really had a chance to get around to this. Anyway, as always I hope you enjoy the chapter although it is, admittedly, a bit boring. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. Thank you for reading**

* * *

**Left Outside Alone**

"Great day for flying, hey Boss?" Demon noted, the burly man looking expectantly at Holland, "The Trappar is really beating!"

"You got that right!" Holland agreed, enthusiasm bordering on the manic giving his words a fevered edge, "Haven't seen a swell this good since the Summer of Love!"

"No doubt the commander has some training schedule he wishes to impose on his team before the Trials next month, am I right?" Sergei interjected in a virulently acidic voice, totally ruining the positive atmosphere generated amongst the 1st Mobile by the superb Trappar conditions.

"Gee wiz Revenant! Lighten up a little!" Devin complained to his wingman, "Why'd you only ever see the shit side of things?"

"Because, although a baby like you might not know this yet, that tends to be the realist side of things." Sergei answered, in a tone even richer with acid.

"Enough." Holland ordered levelly, eyeing both the pilots, "I do have a training regime planned, but it can wait till after the wave."

"Yeah man!" Demon and Devin affirmed their support for their leader's decision, waiting for no further permission before charging down the escarpment towards the fiercest region of waves, boards in hand.

* * *

The meteorological team had detected the oncoming waves early that morning, and Holland had wasted no time after being informed about it in gathering his squadron to take advantage of the opportunity for some phenomenal Lifting.

Even Sergei, despite his caustic attitude, loved Lifting more than almost anything else, and nothing put the whole team in a great mood like a truly remarkable swell. This could be easily verified by simply looking at the looks of hunger on the faces of the pilots, illustrating their need to partake in the one non-military skill they all had in abundance, an unparalleled ability to Lift.

Following Demon and Sandman's examples Holland dashed towards the confluence of the waves, noting as he went how the cliffs forming the y-bend of the canyon was beautifully channelling the Trappar currents into circular, curling, eddies. Perfect conditions for high-bar Lifting. He waited until a strong updraft hit the edge of the precipice, and without any hesitation, leapt over the chasm.

He deftly balanced himself in mid-fall, holding his entire being in synchronous with the rapidly descending Lift board, waiting...waiting...waiting...

Until, with a sibilant motion, Holland spun into a series of intense rotations and manoeuvres as he navigated the waves. His skill was so clearly supreme when compared to Devin or Demon, who were likewise performing tricks, that it would be unfair to do so, considering that they themselves were superb Lifters. But Holland did not Lift to show-up his teammates, or to inflate his self-esteem, he Lifted because only whilst Lifting did he ever feel really free.

It had been three days since the mission against the D.U.M., and Holland needed the activity to prevent his mind sinking into destructive introspection. When left with nothing to do he mulled over thoughts of Diane, thoughts of Adrock and became difficult and testy. To make matters even worse, the Officer's Meet was almost upon them, and he was looking forward to attending it about as much as a skyfish looks forward to becoming reflection film. Talho had been true to her word. In a sense. She had furiously gossiped her way to discovering the identities of any women within feasible distance who could be an adequate partner for Holland. The list was exceedingly short.

There were many good reasons for this, of course. The first was the fact that the male to female ratio in the military was not favourable in terms of a man looking for a female partner. Second, the nearby women of the town were barred from attending such a meet. Thirdly, and most painfully for Holland, he had no relationships, after the loss of Diane, hence stranding him alone, as the officers could attend with long-time girlfriends, wives, or in some cases mistresses. This reduced the potentiates to only the women on base, most of whom were already asked. Holland had started looking late, for the obvious reason that less than two weeks ago he had counted on Diane being at his side.

Talho, however, refused to let herself be deterred by such petty realities. She had set her mind to this, and she was the kind of woman who rarely failed to get what she wants. She was in a relationship with Dewey after all. But Holland felt sure that despite her efforts the situation was altogether unsalvageable.

Charles was equally unable to help, considering that the 2nd Mobile had been sent on a long range submission assignment. Holland was not very upset by this.

At base, he was simply not interested in finding a partner, he didn't see what the major deal was if he went alone. He knew it was expected of every commander to bring a girl. It was one of those almost entirely inexplicable rituals on which a military man's life becomes based. He figured it probably grew out of a need to ensure that every fighting man would leave behind a potential successor, although that was purely speculation on his behalf.

But all these thoughts were washed away as he flew along the flows, his every fibre under his control, his every movement a song that only he could sing. His own way of praying.

"Holy shit Boss!" Demon exclaimed as the squad leader executed a barrel-roll along the inside of a major swell, travelling inches from the walls of the canyon, "Ya keep doin' stuff like that an' we're gonna be short a commander on the next mission."

"No way Jason, the Leader's about as likely to crash as the Colonel is to lose his job." Devin enthusiastically praised his role model, "I mean everybody knows Holland ain't never lost a Lifting competition since ages ago, like before I was born!"

Demon just shook his head and smiled at his younger companion's exuberant hyperbole, and although nobody could see it, Holland was smiling to.

It was late that evening by the time Holland made his way back towards his barracks room, fitfully energised by his day's activity. Diane was still in his head, he was still hearing her words, but the thrill of the Lift had forced them into the basement of his thoughts.

* * *

The spell of happiness was jeopardised when he saw Talho waiting for him at the barracks doors. He knew she was waiting for him (and had been for some time) by the look of cynical superiority that had infected her expression. She was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, brow contrite. It was a very imposing stance.

As he got close he willed himself to keep his light mood. Talho was not interested in such mercy, "You've taken your time getting back." She snapped, harsher than Holland felt he deserved (which was admittedly not much), "I've been waiting here for almost two hours." The last point had the edge of a threat, and Holland quickly decided it would not be a good idea to remind the furious woman that he had not been aware she would be waiting for him.

"Why have you been waiting?" Holland asked, surprised to find that his cheerfulness had not vanished in the face of Talho's annoyance.

"I've been waiting for you! Dolt! I have something important to tell you about! But you have to spend the whole freakin' day Lifting! Five freakin' hours! How can you waste all that 

time? Don't you even take other people into account?!" She managed to say it all in an almost unbroken assault of sound, leaving Holland a few seconds behind the conversation as he attempted to catch up with her sentence.

"I enjoy Lifting," he began tenuously, cautious of another tirade, "I don't exactly get to do it often considering my situation on the base."

"Whatever!" she responded with a despairing exhalation of breathe, "It does not give you the right to just ignore everyone else!"

"I didn't ignore you! Damnit! I didn't know you would be looking for me today! Geez you're so quick to make everything my fault."

"Look at your messages today?"

Holland froze, fully aware that he had just walked into a trap.

"No."

"Well I guess then you obviously wouldn't know considering that you don't read your daily mail because you got all hyped up on some stupid swell."

Holland prepared to retaliate by pointing out that even if he had checked his messages, it scarcely gave her the right to take his non-response as an affirmative to a meeting, when he realized that her voice had lost most of its viperish edge. He saw in her eyes once again a hint of the overwhelmed girl he had seen in his car. And in his dreams.

She was clearly very, very upset. And it didn't have much to do with him.

"What is the matter, huh?" he asked as earnestly as he could manage, which was still quite cold and detached.

"It's Dewey." She answered, turning her head quickly to the side and avoiding Holland's interrogative stare, "He's making things complicated."

"He can sometimes have a knack for that."

"He can't make it to the Officer's Meet." As she said this Holland heard a sound in her tone he very rarely heard in relation to Dewey, disappointment.

"Why?" He asked, honestly interested as to why his brother would miss such an important ceremony.

"He's got some super-secret information he has to confer with the Sages about. I don't know. It's not as if he tells me anything."

"If it's so secret then of course he can't tell you." Holland pointed out, unconsciously adopting an imperious voice, a lecturing voice.

"Would that have stopped you from telling Diane?" Talho jabbed back.

Holland stood silent, digesting this question. What would he have done?

"I...don't know...what I'd do."

"Well Dewey sure does." She sighed, turning her face back to Holland, her facade of authority back in place, "He feels it's necessary to protect me. Because he loves me I guess. This is the sacrifice I must make for that love."

Holland simply nodded, trying not to think of the way his palms were sweating.

"And on a similar note, Dewey wants you to take me to the blasted Meet. _For my protection_, no doubt."

Holland blinked. And then blinked again. Before the third blink he realised he should have already said something but by that time it was too late.

"Yeah, I'm not thrilled about this either! So get over it. Dewey wants this and I'm sure as hell gonna give the Colonel what he wants. But he better be prepared to do some serious making up for this. That way he can get my point as much as I get his."

With that she strode away from the barracks towards her own quarters, leaving an extremely uncomfortable Holland, ardently wishing she hadn't phrased her last line quite the way she had.

* * *

Holland sat in his room, thinking to himself about the next evening, the Officer's Meet. He had attended numerous such gatherings in his career, and was confident he knew exactly how this one would unfold. Considering that Farlan Heights was a fairly small, elitist base, there would be little ceremony as compared to larger, more mundane stations. Also, primarily due to the SOF's influence, there was going to be some serious heavy drinking before the end of the night. Holland made a quiet, and he hoped not pointless, promise to himself that he would **not** get wasted.

He would be wearing his full dress regalia, not the uniform he wore in combat but the whole apparel required of a SOF commander.

_Rather wrap myself in sandpaper, it'd chafe less._

He admired the way Dewey could always make his uniform his own. When looking at the Lt. Colonel, the uniform he wore seemed uniquely made for him, although of course it was not. Holland always felt like a man made to wear a license plate, as if he needed or wanted his rank and position displayed for all to see.

And that didn't even begin to describe his difficulties with valour medals. He had accumulated so many, and some of them were so extravagant, that when he wore them all he had to fight to prevent himself listing to his side under the weight.

In short, Holland had many complaints about the dress requirements of officious military gatherings.

Then, on top of all that, there was the entire issue involving Talho.

He understood Dewey's thinking, was even in grudging agreement with it, but still found himself more than slightly troubled by the situation he had been placed in. Like the shopping expedition, only worse. Under other circumstances he would have simply hoped the girl he was escorting would get herself nice and drunk, so that some other opportunistic walking penis could take over the job of being her escort in short order. But now, with Dewey's girl, he would have to do his level best to maintain a high standard of dignity, and strive to get Talho to do the same.

He really wasn't sure which of the two would be tougher.

* * *

"So you can set it for release?" Jarren asked as Steven moved incessantly between the multiple computer screens that lined the basement of his house.

"Shut the fuck up man! And artist needs fucking peace and fucking quiet! Good karma's key man, good karma's key!" And with that the foul-mouthed hacker proceeded to turn up the volume of the horribly unharmonic techno music that he said inspired his 'good karma.'

Jarren grated his teeth and fought back the urge to strangle the little shit in his chair. He sat there like some self-righteous sage, when he knew straight up nothing about the kind of feelings Jarren had locked inside himself. He was murder and pain waiting to happen.

It had been almost three days since he had arrived at Steven's house, and the time had been spent primarily within this basement, with SL8 trying to find a way to pull of Jarren's request, which he had called, "the fuckin' craziest thing since those Vodarek shitheels proclaimed the whole shit-suckin' fucked-up planet was alive."

Steven was elegantly vocal like that.

Yet despite the reservations, he had thrown himself into trying to achieve it like a madman. Although, when Jarren thought about it, that scarcely surprised him.

The plan was uncomplicated, that was the remarkable beauty of it. But whilst it was simple, it still required a great amount of skill, and would place all the role players in tremendous danger. Jarren couldn't care. Ever since the point at which he committed himself to suicide, the concept of danger became meaningless. It was the terrible, dreadful, awesome and intense power of final and utter freedom from any form of connection or restraining influence.

Steven had his own motivations for partaking so readily in a plan that, if ever discovered, would surely see him facing a firing squad. SL8 had no love for the UF, but his transgressions were usually smaller, criminal activities that gave him a kick from subverting authority.

Jarren didn't much care to know the reason Steven had agreed to help so easily, it mattered next to nothing compared to the inferno inside him that existed only to see this plan to its completion so that he could seek release.

"Alright! Yeah man, that's the shit!" Steven exclaimed happily, turning to Jarren with a madcap smile cutting a line across his face from ear to ear, "I've got the comm. codes! With them it'll be a synch to breach the security protocols on the mainframe network. And from there…" The bald hacker's eyes were red gimlets in the computer screen's glare, afire with a sadistic desire to inflict damage that would have unnerved even a military man.

Jarren smiled right back unflinchingly.

* * *

"Why don't you look charming!" Ray profused, nudging Charles to do the same.

"Huh? Oh, yeah! No Holland, seriously, you're looking great." This came out with significantly less enthusiasm than Ray's comment, despite Charles' best efforts. The big man was not usually the type to profuse praise at another man's appearance. Holland was aware both meant well, but gave them a hard disbelieving stare. He was pretty damn sure he looked exactly the way he felt, overdressed and underprepared. It helped not at all that Ray and Charles were both garbed in well-matched outfits, complementing each other almost as well aesthetically as the did mentally. The bitter gall of envy stirred again, and Holland crushed it as soundly as he could under the boot of his self-control. They were among his few good friends (especially considering how seldom he got to see Hap these days), it was petty and pathetic of him to get jealous of the strong relationship the two shared.

This was the way he argued it to himself, but a stubbornly defiant part of his thoughts continued to jab at his sore heart with painful comparisons between Ray and Charles' relationship, and his and Diane's. It was excruciating torment for his psyche.

But he had not become an SOF commander by readily allowing his emotions to control him, and the burning at Diane's abandonment was already somewhat less intense than it had been.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say." He grimaced, already hearing Talho's insults in his head. She was going to verbally destroy him, he knew it.

"I really mean it Holland." Ray frowned, leaning forward to straighten his collar, "That Miss Yuki can have nothing to complain about."

"And even if she does say something...Which she wont't!" Charles corrected himself, catching the look in Ray's eyes, "But even if she does say something about it, don't let it get to you, got it Holland?"

"Got it Charles." Holland nodded in exasperation, "Can I go pick up the little annoyance now? Dewey would have a fit if he found out I kept his girl waiting."

"Alright then, go." Ray answered, waving for him to move quickly.

"See you at the Meet, bar side, right Holland?" Charles asked expansively with a big wink.

"Maybe. I'll see. Be seeing you guys."

* * *

Talho's quarters were, of course, in the Information Department's dormitory area. As Holland arrived at the entrance he saw a steady stream of women file out to meet their dates for the evening. It was a point of great speculation amongst the men of the military why the Info Department had by far the largest proportion of females in its staff of any division in the army. Many theories had been proffered through time, but the one that stuck the most tenaciously, was the fact that senior officers primarily interacted with member of the Info Department, and so they are most interested in surrounding themselves with the more 

personally pleasing people. This theory, which Holland knew to be farcical, incorrectly assumed that those said officers had control over the Department. In actuality, barring a few exceptions, the Info officers performed a pseudo-enforcement role in terms of punishing and most importantly reporting instances of dereliction of duty or even treason. Any officer in regular contact with a member of the Info Department had to be careful of the words they said and the actions they took. A military cannot operate without such an organisation in its structure. The gender issue was one that arose from the simple reality that women make superior secretaries and information gatherers on average, although as with anything, exceptions did exist. Dewey was one such an exceptional individual.

Holland eventually located Talho's room, and knocked, taking a deep breathe and bracing himself as he did so. The sound of movement came from the other side before the door slid open.

Holland was impressed, which did not happen often. The Information Officer was dressed to kill, her strapless blue dress cut to a body fit, accentuating her figure and bust. And both were worth taking note of. It stirred bitterness in him as he remembered the times Diane had been his partner to functions, beautifully turned out, but never borderline erotic as was Talho's style. Although he had now ceased, for the most part, judging Talho on her appearance, he could not help but feel a twinge of concern for Dewey, and her, honour. Such an exhibition was, even if unintended, sure to be the source of unwanted male attention. Being the Lt. Colonel's girl though, the predators wouldn't risk anything until they were to drunk to listen to common sense. Unfortunately this was the exact state most of them would be in by the end of the night.

"Are you undressing me with your eyes? Or did you fall asleep with your eyes open?" The question was sharp, and Holland blinked back to reality.

"No. Neither, I was just thinking..."

"Just thinking...?" She lent her head forward, one eyebrow raised, an interrogative look on her face, "Just thinking what?"

"Thinking about how my boys will react to your get up." He answered honestly, forcibly keeping his eyes and features controlled and distant. No reason to walk into a problem without a fight.

"Yeah well, whatever." The declaration lacked feeling, and she walked silently at Holland's side towards the door.

Holland understood, or thought he understood, the reasons for her ill-temper. He could see how Dewey must have appeared to be blowing her off. But Holland had spoken to his brother after Talho had informed him that he would be taking her, and Dewey had explained that he had been summoned to meet the Sages, or at the very least some of their highest-ranking representatives. Something of this magnitude clearly outweighed any minor social concern like the Officer's Meet. This left Holland in the unenviable position of standing between these two perspectives. His solution, or the closest to a solution he had decided on, was to remain as impassive and uninvolved as his situation allowed. But as with most problems that revolved in some manner around his brother, it was proving difficult for him to stick to his apathetic policy.

He allowed his eyes to examine his partner from out of the corner of his vision, a skill taught to any member of the SOF who trained in operative work. To perceive while avoiding perception, the cornerstone of a special operations agent's skill set.

She was glowering, her frustration and annoyance fully visible. She was not going to pretend nothing was wrong. Holland found himself suddenly surprised that Talho had decided to go at all. He thought about asking her, but changed his mind quickly as she gave him a withering glare as if she was reading his thoughts.

Holland sighed; it was going to be an extremely long night.

* * *

And it didn't start well. "Oh! Hey Jason, the Boss is here!"

With all the non-existent inhibition that was Devin's nature, the sandy-haired pilot strolled towards his superior, a very young looking red-head on his arm.

"Hi Devin." Holland began coolly, "Hope your KLF is patched up."

"Yeah, yeah, no problem sir." A look of appraisal passed over the younger man's face as his gaze passed over Talho, "And good to see you again Miss Yuki."

"Charmed, to be sure." She answered with an even smile, "and who is this precious dear with you?"

"Oh right!" Devin exclaimed, leaning in and giving the girl a kiss before gesturing to her and replying, "This is Miranda."

The young girl blushed profusely and bowed deeply, "A pleasure to meet you."

Holland noticed that as the girl spoke Talho seemed to edge up, though why he couldn't quite determine. Before he or Devin could speak however, she moved over and cut in between the pilot and his partner, and deftly manoeuvred the two of them so that they were facing the two men. "I think that we girls should stick together." She flashed a look that strangled Devin's protest in his throat, before turning to Miranda and whispering something into her ear. The red-head giggled and blushed again, as Talho led her away towards the centre of the room.

"What was up with that?" Devin asked dumbfounded.

Holland gave his subordinate a sidelong look, "How old is Miranda?"

"Oh, I don't know, round twenty or something?"

"Twenty or something." Holland repeated disbelievingly, shaking his head, "You'll excuse me for thinking she's more like sixteen won't you." It wasn't a question.

"Who cares, huh? She's just a date, come on. Why don't you tell me why you're here with Miss Yuki?" The unholy curiosity in the boy's eyes made Holland flinch inwardly, but outwardly he simply fixed Devin with a stare that made the younger man quail.

"Still assertin' your dominance, aren't ya," Jason stepped into the conversation, "take my advice Dev, back off while you're ahead.'

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Just asking."

Demon smiled broadly and gave Holland a wink, "'cause that's all you eve have to do, huh, ask? Sounds like you."

"Well, if I'm not gonna be appreciated here I guess I'll get going." Devin replied with mock offence and strutted off into the crowd, leaving Holland and Jason to each other's company.

"You doin' alright Boss?" The burly pilot enquired, his smile still on his face, "'cause they've got a right fine collection of alcohol over at the table, so I know where I'm goin. Wanna join me?"

Holland fought the impulse for a whole three seconds before relenting, "Yeah, why not."

If the night wasn't going to play fair, Holland saw no reason to keep his promises either.

* * *

Mephiles: And there you have it, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing. The next chapter will be a lot better I promise, so please hold on. Also it might take a while for the next one to come since school's starting again where I am and I first need to finish another chapter of Xanadu


	6. Party Song

Mephiles: Real sorry to have kept you waitig for so long...no decent excuse. On the by and by, I loathe my internet connection with the deepest and most extreme form imaginable within the confines of this, or any reality. There I go, feel better now. Please review! Comments and criticisms is what I do this for. in particular, thanks Talhofan for showing so much interest thus far. Hope you'll keep enjoying my story.

Holland29 thank you for your contribution

Brianna I will make sue to make more and thank you for your review

Automailjunkie44 thanks for the comments and review

LTscw same to you, and thank you

animegirl101 I hope you enjoy this one, and thanks for the support

* * *

**Party Song**

There was a solid thud as the arm smacked the table top, but the sound was drowned out as the spectators cheered uproariously at the outcome. Jason smiled hugely, gesturing sympathetically at the man whose arm he had just smashed, and calling for a refill. The big man was very impressed with himself.

Holland sighed. Internally he was wondering if it was better or worse that Jason had only begun the arm-wrestling matches after he was drunk. Not that he was alone, thought Holland as the crowd cheered again as Charles, sitting next to Jason, defeated his opponent as well. The two men were slowly but surely working their way towards facing each other, and both was putting on as big a show as they could before the showdown.

"You boys and your fun," Holland heard Ray say despairingly from next to him, "Amazing that an SOF pilot could draw pleasure from beating someone in a physical contest."

Holland muttered something as assent, not trusting his lips to speak his words. He had never had much of a stomach for liquor, and the night had already been going on for something like three hours. A long time to spend with other people in Holland's book.

Despite this, Holland had to admit it had not been an entirely intolerable evening. Talho had seemingly decided to teach Devin's Miranda something of a lesson, and Holland had watched amusedly as the poor boy had fumbled his various attempts to overcome the ploys Talho was teaching the girl to employ. Holland almost felt sorry for him.

Caiphas was at a table with some of the highest-ups on the base, dealing the cards in a five way game of poker. Oldboy was hands-down winning, and his opponents treated him with a respectful demeanour that belied the actual rank gradient at the table. Holland had often seen Oldboy chide everything from a lieutenant to a major, whilst the target cringed at the veteran's drill sergeant mannerisms. This was hardly surprising of course, as Caiphas had been most of their sergeants before they had been promoted. The old man had fiercely resisted any attempt to promote **him**, and the only reason he had accepted the officer's commission to become a lieutenant with the SOF was because Dewey had talked him into it. Yet another item on the long list of practical miracles Dewey made a habit of performing.

The two least social of the 1st Mobile however, were not so clearly participating in the activity. Sergei was sitting in a circle of various Information officers and alternated between caustically whipping the crowd with his tongue, and satirically beating them with it. Yet despite this abuse his audience was avid, a fact that was no doubt colossally pleasing to the refined bastard's ego. Holland had seen that before to, it was one of Sergei's character traits that surprised most people, but the SOF commander was quite aware of the attraction of the cathartic kind of activity Sergei's admirers were partaking in.

Ice was leaning silently against the wall in one of the more empty corners, looking so like a statue that Holland was at first not sure if it was a decoration. The young ace never took part in social events, and Holland struggled to remember if he had ever interacted with the silent pilot when they were not actively in a mission.

Holland was just about to walk over and start a first ever casual conversation with Ice when he saw something out of the corner of his eye that temporarily roused his sharper senses form his pseudo-stupor.

Talho was busy talking to some Lieutenant Major (who obviously didn't know who she was, or was to drunk to care), and by the way she was leaning against him it was obvious she held her drink about as well as Holland himself did. But the danger signs had not merely been Talho's intoxication, the officer was clearly trying to cajole the Miss Yuki into the centre of the room, were some couples were already engaged in various levels of intimacy.

With a sigh and a shake of his head Holland set out to save Talho's (and by association, Dewey's) honour. As he was about to reach the pair Devin suddenly intercepted him, an expression of angst on his usually altogether too carefree face.

"Not now boy." Holland tried to sound authoritative, but the effect was lost on the blonde, who simply remained in his way, face clearly showing great distress.

"Leader! Please help me! I don't know what Miss Talho did, but Miranda's actin' really strange!"

"Not now kid! I'm busy!" Holland tried desperately to push past the younger man, but Devin was nimble enough to continually interject himself, stifling his commander's attempts.

Over Dev's shoulder Holland could see Talho laughing furiously as her would-be seducer moved his hand over the small of her back, a wolfish smile on his face.

With a burst of speed and a swinging elbow Holland finally defeated his subordinate's defence, and just as he prepared to break up the Talho situation he was confronted by a very pleased looking Demon. A pleased looking Demon with dilated pupils, a red glow in his cheeks and an even bigger slur in his words than normal.

"Whatsss da rush Bosss? Me 'an Charles jus' 'bout ta mix it up! But ya gotta be firsters."

Holland paused momentarily as two thought steams ran through his head simultaneously: the first was the question of why in the hell Demon would want Holland to take on either Charles or himself in a test that was really obviously one-sided, considering that both the big men's arms were about four times the mass and size of the younger Novak's. But this stream wasn't the important one, as Holland quickly settled that Demon just wanted to show him up in something (this held for Charles as well, for that matter). The second was far more significant, because past Demon's head Holland could see Talho's assailant moving in for a kiss.

Despite the most desperate of manoeuvring Holland found himself unable to pass Demon, who, with obvious delight, weaved and ducked with Holland, clearly think this a form of game.

Holland was just about to go SOF on Demon and leave him on the floor when a loud clap noise echoed throughout the hall, along with a sharp cry of, "WHAT!! YOU THINK TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF A TIPSY GIRL!!"

The sound drew Demon's attention as well, and both he and Holland stared at the source of the outburst. Standing at the centre of the event was Talho, her cheeks bright red and her eyes savage, next to her, and backing away rapidly, was a rather shell shocked Major, clutching his cheek. Holland could clearly discern the handprint of reddened skin under the officer's hands, evidence that Talho had a phenomenal slap.

"You..Wha..? What do you think your doing hitting me!?"

Talho sneered derisively, and Holland knew she was good at that, "Well I don't know! What did you think you were doing **touching** me? Pervert!" and with that she stormed away, leaving a gaggle of spectators who were all trying not to look as interested as they really were.

"Best go talk to her Boss." Demon advises earnestly, the irony of his statement completely lost on him.

"Why thank you for that useful advice." Holland replied sarcastically, as he hurried after Talho.

* * *

She was, rather dramatically in Holland's opinion, standing on the balcony of the building. Out here the sordid irony of the whole situation was starkly clear. The feverish gaiety of the party-goers and the bright decorations that were pulled out and put up at every function, contrasted to the stainless metal that they concealed. This was a military base after all.

He didn't often show it, but Holland was Dewey's brother, and the deeper implications of this masquerade of joy over dark function were apparent to him. This was not a balcony, but a station for a mounted gun emplacement. The ground crews had no doubt removed it, but they could not take the bolt stains of the floor, nor change the fact that the view out was not scenic but strategic, overlooking a pass that led up towards the base from the nearest city.

He had from time to time wondered to himself about the nature of life on this world, the way mere existence here was allegorically related to this duality of meaning so painfully revealed by the party. Everything that was fun or light or new or interesting or free was only ever done in the shadow of the military, under the stare of the system that exerted control over almost every facet of life. Sometimes, when he was by himself, Holland wondered if it was worth it.

But he would remind himself that it was all a necessary evil, that without that control chaos and anarchy were the only outcomes. People needed to be governed. This world was dangerous, and not growing any safer in the aftermath of the Summer of Love. Now was not the time for weakness of will or negligence of duty. Holland often wished at these points that he could be like Dewey. Have his brother's seemingly unshakeable convictions in the face of confusion and adversity. It was a blessing for which he envied Dewey.

"So are you just going to stand there?" Talho's voice was loud in Holland's ears after the silence that had stretched between them. He could hear she was upset, but he was fairly certain he was not the target.

"Are you?"

"Jeez, your no good at this are you?" she turned around to face him, her face contrite. It was the expression he had come to see on her face most often when Dewey was absent.

"No." Holland felt no need to be more verbal than necessary, after all, his duty was to look out for her, not play the role of emotional support.

"Pervert." For a moment Holland thought the word was directed at him, but he then realized she was referring to the major she had hit, "Men never know when to keep their hands to themselves. Just because a girl has a little to drink."

Holland however, could see that whatever level of intoxication she had been in before had largely passed, and he himself felt less thick-headed than he had a moment ago.

A suspicion began to grow in his gut as he maintained a forcedly disinterested gaze on his charge. He was becoming convinced that she had never been tipsy at all.

"What? No defence for your sex? Pathetic."

The words would have hurt if they were not so obviously chosen in an attempt to goad a reaction from him. His mind heard them calmly, and his emotions remained controlled with the same cool detachment that Holland required to do SOF work.

"Why did you allow that to happen?" His voice was level.

"What do you mean? Allow? Are you blaming me?!" she was striving to sound incredulous, but her guilt was apparent by the speed with which she had taken offense from his question.

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Ohh! You think you know me now, do you!" It was not a question. She moved angrily towards him until she was directly in front of his face, her eyes glaring bloody murder at him, "You don't know shit about me."

"You're wrong." He answered simply, meeting her baleful expression with one that Ice would have been proud of.

"Yeah? Well if you know me so damn well then tell me why you think I did what you think I did."

Holland furrowed his brow and looked into her face. When he first met her he had seen only the part of her she projected, the part most people saw. But now, although it had really not been that long a time, he had seen time and again the vulnerability that lay beneath her hardened exterior. Right there, on that sham of a romantic balcony, Holland realized that she wanted to hear his opinion more than anything. It was a strange insight, of a type Holland was not very familiar with. It just seemed like all of a sudden he knew what he should say.

"You're hurt. About Dewey, mostly. You feel abandoned by him tonight, because he has reminded you that despite the love he has shown you, you will always be second to his work." Like Diane, "You wanted to make a scene...perhaps more than a scene, but at the last moment you realized you couldn't do that, partly because Dewey does love you, and partly because if you did what you might have done, it would make the things people say and think about you correct. Because that's what Dewey means to you, like you told me, somebody who sees you for who you are. And because he sees this, and extends a bond of compassion to you, you cannot but love him, even if you will never be able to be the most important part of his life." The same place Holland could never reach in Diane's heart. "So all of a sudden all the hate and anger that welled up inside you against the person turns inwards against yourself, and you find you disgust yourself. That is why you need me to tell you that it isn't your fault, that my brother loves you." Holland paused to note the glimmer of restrained tears in Talho's eyes, her whole face clenched with emotion, "and that you're not alone. Because I'm here for you too."

There was the briefest of silences, in which Holland angst for what seemed an eternity about what he had just said, and about whether a slap was coming his way, before, with a swiftness that caught Holland off-guard, Talho embraced him in a fierce hug, her face buried in his uniform, body shaking with sobs. He hesitated awkwardly and stood still as she emotionally vented herself against him.

"It's so difficult." She murmured almost inaudibly, her voice tremulous in a way that made Holland uncomfortably aware of the vulnerability she was displaying.

"So difficult to be with someone who is seemingly always right. I try and be angry, but he always finds some reason why what he did was right! I get tired of feeling second-rate compared to him. Sometimes I catch myself just wishing he would make a mistake, I know it's terrible, but I do." Holland remained silent, in all honesty unsure of how to answer the problem with which he himself struggled frequently. What could he say? Generic words of support and encouragement? Warnings? No. None of those would be useful anyway.

Before Holland could think of something, Talho pushed away from his embrace, and looked up into his face with a grimace, her tears gone, but the red spoor they left clearly visible, the telltale glow of discontent.

"Sorry to splurge like that." She managed to sound annoyed with him, despite her personal trauma, "It never helps to be so self-pitying."

"True enough." Holland replied, waited a few moments and then, "You want to stay here?"

"What kind of question is that!" her eyes were flashing now, in their usual fashion, "A women like me can't leave a party early! Sheesh! Don't you have any experience at all?"

Holland almost opened his mouth to make a comeback, but halfway through the thought decided against it.

"Of course. What was I thinking?"

* * *

Inside the building the party continued, the hard working members of the military's elite division showing that they were hard players to. By the time Holland and Talho made their way back inside, the atmosphere had shifted from the light-hearted mock-seriousness of the initial stages and reached the more subdued intensity of the end phases, when most of the partygoers were either to drunk, tired or intimate to care much about anything outside their immediate surroundings.

A small part of Holland was glad to see Devin and Miranda in one of the corner booths, enjoying each other's company immensely. Around the tables Caiphas was busy counting his winnings with a broad look of happiness, despite the obvious signs of weariness on his face. By slight contrast, Demon was still active, talking animatedly to all in earshot and making his way towards the sound systems. But a quick scan of the room showed that Ice and Sergei were nowhere to be seen...

...no...Holland's trained eyes could just discern Ice's shape, almost motionless against the wall on the far side of the room. Only close inspection on Holland's behalf revealed that the silent pilot had even moved at all.

Sergei was nowhere to be seen, and Holland guessed he was occupied with one or more of the admirers that had been surrounding him earlier. For the life of him Holland would never fully comprehend the draw a man like Sergei could possibly have for a woman.

"It seems I missed the good part of the evening." Talho declared, but the statement was not as caustic as Holland would have guessed it would be.

"Wonder what Jason's up to." He mused aloud as he spotted the big man harassing the sound system staff.

"Maybe he doesn't like slow music." Talho replied with a shrug. "It is no fun unless you have a partner, which I note he doesn't."

Holland gave his partner a sidelong look and wondered if...

"Do you want to dance?"

She turned to him with eyes more unreadable than a secret code, or a trappar storm.

"Sure. For pity's sake."

In the end the dance was less awkward than Holland had feared. He was no skilled dancer, but knew how to well enough, and Talho was happy to keep things simply. They didn't talk, but just moved for a while with each other.

Holland was shaken by how warm she was, where she touched his body he felt heat, and more than once he became aware of beads of sweat forming under his overdone uniform. He fought against it, but his dream from before, with this woman beneath him, accosted his thoughts with greater regularity than he would have liked, and to his even greater chagrin he could feel a stir of blood in his nethers.

"Did you and Miss Thurston dance often?"

The question had an immediate effect, blood replaced with ice in his genitals, and his mind making the startled realization that he had not thought about Diane at all. But now that the name was mentioned his memories refused to stall, and he felt bombarded with emotion, a choking feeling of longing and loss embedding itself in his throat.

She seemed to notice his distress, and moved her hand as if to dismiss the question, "Sorry I asked."

Holland was about to answer, when he heard Demon's voice coming over the microphone.

"Oh no." Holland muttered under his breath.

"Hey ya, everybody enjoyin' himselves?" The room replied with a mixture of appreciative positive exclamations and conversely with a fair number of swear words.

"As I thought." The big man beamed, "What ya'll need is some decent music."

With that he pointed at the nearest technical staff guy.

"What does he mean? Decent music?" Talho asked from Holland's side.

"Well, he was an extensive collection of very ancient music, from before we arrived on this planet." Holland braced himself, "This may be something of a shock."

Her quizzical look was cut short before it transformed into a question as a veritable assault of noise poured from the speakers, forcing reactions from all but the most unresponsive of the partygoers. Some began voicing anger and displeasure at the change in atmosphere, whilst some responded with cries of delight and appreciation.

"What is the song about?" Talho asked as those who had positively reacted to the music began dancing to the fast-pace, raucous beat.

"Eh..." Holland searched his memories for the song's name; he thought he recalled Demon playing this particular one before, "If I remember right the song's name is...eh...something like...'Given Up' or something like that."

"What was that?" she leaned in closer due to the volume at which Demon was bombarding the room with sound.

"I said I think the name is 'Given Up.'"

"What does the song have to do with?" Talho asked frowning as the song reached a chorus that was even louder than the verses.

Holland shrugged, "Don't know."

Talho's frown deepened and Holland watched as she turned to face the speakers obliquely, obviously attempting to catch the lyrics of the music. Following her example Holland attempted the same, reaching through the auditory pandemonium in order to find the underlying purpose in the song.

I don't know what to take  
Thought I was focused but I'm scared  
I'm not prepared  
I hyperventilate  
Looking for help somehow somewhere  
And no one cares  
I'm my own worst enemy

"I'm not prepared..." Talho uttered obtusely, her eyes distant. As he watched her he saw her body begin to sway to the song's beat. The movements were not professional, or planned, but all the more enticing for it, a clear and natural physical reaction to the sonorous and pervading sound waves that were flowing all around them.

I've given up  
I'm sick of feeling  
Is there nothing you can say?  
Take this all away  
I'm suffocating  
Tell me what the fuck is wrong  
With me!

He realized a part of him wanted to do it to.

"I think I like it," She declared spontaneously, her arms now moving with the rest of her form, "it makes me want to move."

Holland remained silent, not trusting his tongue.

"Come," She grabbed his hand and pulled him with her, beginning to dance as impulsively as the others who had leapt at the first sound of the music.

Holland moved awkwardly, unsure of himself. His actions felt artificial to him, and he was sure that anybody watching would think him an idiot.

But just as he prepared to retreat from the dance Talho once again grabbed his arm and pulled in close to him, so close that he felt her breathing and the heat emanating off her perspiring body. It was an addictive blend, and suddenly he caught himself no longer giving thought to the way his movements were being perceived by others, it was irrelevant as long as this girl's presence was near.

Talho meanwhile, was in an ecstasy of motion, her hips gyrating as her legs and arms maintained perpetual movement, her face gloriously lit by sweat and a smile that bespoke a deep affirmation of the moment in her heart. It was an image Holland wished he could have committed to permanent storage, so wonderfully free and released. So unlike Diane.

Diane...the thought was smaller now than it had been, but the hurt was still there, the sense of failure and pain. The feeling of betrayal. It may have already been over a month, but the moment Holland thought about it the wound would reopen.

But right there, in that ironic dance hall, as he looked into the joyous and pained face of his brother's girlfriend, surrounded by killers who were dancing and singing with the innocent abandon of children, right there and right then...

He felt, if only momentarily...

That maybe, just maybe...

It would all be alright.

* * *

Mephiles: Thanks for reading this far, hope you enjoyed it. Will attempt to update soon, and will defintely be updating Xanadu within the next three days.


	7. If You Could Read My Mind

Mephiles: Sorry for taking so long I had essays to write, this chapter is mostly about Holland's introspective thoughts. I hope you like it and please leave a review, thank you very much.

If You Could Read My Mind

Holland strode purposefully through the streets, largely ignoring the pattering of small arms fire on his hull. The Vodarek insurgents of Breme were desperate. Desperate and pathetically doomed.

"Damn this is a waste of our time." Demon grumbled over the com, "Hey Boss, what's the Lt. Colonel thinking sending us against these monks?"

"No kidding Demon, it's just pathetic." Sandman added, sounding vaguely insulted by the weakness of his opponents.

"Only amateurs complain about their opposition being too weak." Revenant quipped caustically, "Do you enjoy near-death situations? Personally I find it far more enjoyable when they don't stand a chance."

A plume of flame and smoke blossomed into life with an ear-splitting blast, doubtless Revenant making his point by unleashing his Laser Cannon into an insurgent structure.

"Watch it!" Came Oldboy's irritated voice, "Those are civilian buildings Rev! Check your targets."

Holland shook his head within his cockpit. How was it even remotely possible to conduct strikes like this without collateral damage? Archetype-based platforms simply could not employ surgical strikes in an urban environment, their bulk and the size of their weapons precluded any such tactics. He understood that the military didn't want to waste infantry, to whom the Vodarek would have been far more dangerous opposition, but the trade-off with collateral did not always seem justified. But such was the situation, and a soldier does not question his orders.

"Not worth the ammo." Ice suddenly added, Holland turning to look at his usually silent wingman. He was engaging an enemy emplacement, where some twelve or so men and women were busy firing impotently at Ice's vehicle. As he watched he saw the young pilot shoulder his weapon and drive his hand into the side of the building overshadowing the position. The insurgents below watched, both confused and afraid, but maintained a hail of meaningless fire. Then, with a sudden jerk, Ice brought the side of the building tumbling down on to the people below, their yells buried in a wave of cement and steel. Afterwards Ice turned towards Holland, clearly aware he had been watching. He jerked his head at the rubble and continued to advance. Holland repressed a smile, he knew that head jerk had meant _you see, no wasted ammo_, it was a characteristic Ice like thing to do.

"Way to make a point Ice, but still Leader, why have we been given this assignment?" Sandman asked, returning to the earlier topic.

Holland had indeed asked Dewey the exact same question in the briefing, and Dewey had replied that following the Summer of Love fundamentalist factions within the already borderline secessionist Vodarek movement had begun to employ terrorist tactics and were stockpiling weapons. The fear was that if given too much opportunity, the Vodarek could provide a wide support base in manpower and military equipment for other secessionist factions, in addition to their own anti-Federation doctrine. Yet despite this, none of their foes in Breme, supposedly a stockpile city for the Vodarek, had carried anything heavier than small arms, entirely useless against an archetype-based weapon platform. In short, Holland didn't know why an SOF squadron had been chosen for a mission any normal KLF squad could have completed easily.

"It's our orders. Shut up and finish up." He replied shortly. He was usually curt with his squad.

"Right, Boss."

"Gotcha, Leader."

"Of course...sir."

"Copy that."

"Yes Commander."

It was sure to be a highly unsatisfying day.

* * *

Holland stood silently in his brother's office two days later, his sibling reading his report. It had been almost a month since the Meet, but that time had veritably vanished in a flurry of activity. To Holland it seemed as though the military had decided that the SOF was its new favourite toy, and tried to use it everywhere. Not only against clearly inferior opponents like the Vodarek, but against remnant groups that by all rights the State Army should have been mopping up. Up to this point Holland had demurred from bringing this up with Dewey, but the growing irritation amongst his squadron was becoming pronounced, and could eventually damage their combat efficiency, and Holland would not take that chance. He had made clear his reservations in his report, but he could not predict how Dewey would react.

"I see you've seen fit to give some strategic advice." Dewey suddenly commented, not looking up from the report, "_A mission not of the appropriate level for the skills and capabilities of the SOF_. I see."

There was a silence, and Holland wondered if he should say something, but intuition told him to remain silent.

Dewey looked up at his brother, his eyes filled with something resembling humour, his lips curled into his trademark half-smile, "Well I won't disagree with you. Please sit." Holland did so.

"Butchering religious fundamentalists armed with little more than hand guns is scarcely something a man such as yourself can find stimulating."

"Understand sir. I would not bring this up if I did not feel that the situation is having a detrimental effect on the fighting abilities of my squadron." Holland said earnestly, his brow furrowed as he attempted to get his concerns through. "And I suppose telling you that the Vodarek represent a very real and dramatic threat to the Federation won't work?"

"Sir, you know that three KLF squads could perform the task just as well as we do."

"Not just as well, Commander, you sell yourself short. But yes, the SOF is not militarily required for such missions."

"But then why..."

"Because although the SOF is not militarily necessary it is psychologically necessary." Dewey interjected with a voice that seemed to prohibit argument, "It is needed that the enemies of the Federation be taught to fear the reprisals that will come their way. No more Warsaws, Holland."

The use of his name struck Holland silent temporarily.

"We must use terror now so that many lives will be saved later. Our Information Department has already intercepted Vodarek transmissions that name you and your SOF squad as the "Devil's Spear." They seem to believe you represent their worst nightmares." As Dewey said these things a glimmer of satisfaction shone in his eyes, backed by his omnipresent implacable will.

"I see." And Holland did. The reason was an old one. But it was still not entirely satisfactory, "But why these Vodarek? What about them is so very intimidating?"

Dewey fell quiet, his gaze falling on to his desk. Holland followed his look and realized he was staring at the same book from before, open on his brother's desk. Before his could say anything he realized Dewey's eyes were back on him, and fierce with determination.

"There is something important to understand Holland. It is a fundamental truth for all regimes, from the first tribes on Earth, right through to the modern reign of the Sages. The most dangerous threat to a system of governance is when it loses the support of its people. Nothing is more surely deadly than that. These Vodarek make people believe in some higher entity for their deliverance, they try to focus people away from the truth of the here and now, just as all religions do. We cannot allow them to so blind and mislead the people, not only will it undermine the structure of the world in which we live, but it is a travesty against the dignity of the people."

Dewey fell quiet again. Eventually muttering almost silently, "...make Humanity believe their enslaver is their saviour."

Holland couldn't comprehend the last part, but Dewey's argument had struck a chord in his heart. He knew the dangers of being mislead, and he understood that good deeds and beliefs employed in a foolish manner could do more harm than active evil. Actually, he realized, why had he wondered about it in the first place? Dewey had approved the missions; of course they were well chosen and important. Foolish to doubt, really.

"I understand now, sorry to have brought up such a pointless matter."

"No need to apologise Holland. It is only those fated to be one of the sheep who merely does as he is ordered without thought." In the smile Dewey gave then Holland saw more of his brother the way he remembered him from long before the military, long before Dewey had been "sir" or "the Lt. Colonel." Holland realized he sometimes forgot that Dewey was his brother.

"Thank you. Dewey."

* * *

The next day Holland received the message. The 1st SOF Squadron was permitted two weeks of shore leave, active immediately. It was doubtless Dewey's doing. It had been quite some time since the last leave for the 1st Mobile, a fate common of any top-tier military unit. Still, the men would doubtless welcome this temporary reprieve from massacring inferior opponents. Even Revenant would perhaps cut back on the sarcasm, which had been getting progressively less bearable in recent weeks.

Holland didn't keep tabs on what his squadmates did on leave. Demon would always talk about spending the time back in his home city, something about a sick mother. Devin would almost assuredly party the leave (and his paycheck) away, one of the reasons his account balance was always empty. Cai, Sergei and Ice never talked about their leaves.

Holland had only one person who he always met up with during his leaves, and this time was no different.

"So, how's the big bad SOF man doing?" Hap asked, his eyebrow raised quizzically, "Heard about a lot of action round Breme recently, that you guys?"

"You know I can't tell you about that stuff, so don't ask." Holland answered, shaking his head.

"Yeah well, I tell you man, people are becoming terrified of the very mention of you guys. Hope that's what you want."

"Actually it is." Holland acknowledged.

"Well your attacks in Contario really attracted a lot of attention."

"Can't you think of another topic?"

Hap's lips pursed momentarily, "How you doing about Diane."

"I..." Holland stopped. Although he had known Hap would bring it up, he still didn't know what to say now that he had. For a while now he had felt as if there was three distinct parts of him, all vying for dominance over his thought processes.

The first was the part of him that still wailed for Diane, the part that missed her at every table, and every night. Shit the nights were still tough. The only times he didn't long for her in the nights was when he was so drunk he couldn't think, and even then he would have dreams. Dreams about Diane. And Talho, and that could be even worse.

The second part was his SOF self. This one embraced his work, drove the other parts out of his mind. This was the part of him that ruled in the day, the part Holland had been actively courting to escape the terrible yearning that gripped him in its absence.

The third part was small. A little voice that spoke up every now and again. It told him that he should stop wishing for Diane back, that he should pull himself together, stop compensating for his emotional trauma by burying himself in SOF work. After all, what would Diane have wanted him to do?

What would Diane have wanted him to do.

"Sorry I asked." Hap apologised awkwardly with a shrug, taking a deep gulp from his drink. He let the silence linger a little longer, both the childhood friends cut off from the continuous sounds of people in the bar, "Different topic then. How you guys feeling about Trials?"

Trials. Holland groaned inwardly at the reminder. He had almost completely stopped thinking about them recently, what between missions, Dewey, Diane...and Talho.

Trials was basically a rite of passage for new members of the SOF. Elite young pilots (and they were always terribly young) would compete against a current member of the Mobile Squadrons. It wasn't recruitment through combat though, Dewey would never allow for such a haphazard procedure. No, but a pilot who could perform well in the Trials would get himself noticed, and could be fast tracked into the SOF. That was how Ice had earned his entry, managing to gain a draw against Demon in a surprising display of ability. It was a matter of pride to the Squadrons not to lose a fight during Trials, and other than Demons tie, the 1st Mobile had an impeccable victory record.

Holland's ego smile wryly, when your actual opposition is as pathetic as ours, we prove ourselves more by fighting each other than the enemy. For some reason that seemed hilarious, and before he could stop himself Holland burst into a bout of intense laughter.

It really was pathetic.

"No fears." He answered dismissively, and meant it, "We're the 1st Mobile if you recall, no little neophyte is gonna beat us."

"You've been talking to that Jason too much." Hap observed, "Anyways, have you seen the schematics for the new generation of frigates?"

Holland shrugged a no.

"Looks remarkable, very nimble, entirely new weapons placement system, six Laser Cannon, mounted on two rotatable underslung sponsons. Not sure about the missile loadout, but I imagine it'll be impressive."

"Actually the military has been giving thought to cutting back on missile-based" Holland interjected with a grimace (not for any particular reason, but Holland had a tendency to spontaneously grimace), "With the new point-defence systems installed on KLFs, missiles are next to useless against the newer designs."

"Yeah, I heard about that, but surely they can't be that effective?"

The conversation passed in this vein for some time, and Holland was happy for it. A part of himself suddenly thought how pathetic that was as well, that he found himself happiest these days when he was talking about nonsense. The real matters, the true issues of his life, these he wished only to avoid. Simultaneously he realized that something had recently been forcing him to confront his past, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

In any event, right there and right then he could be, if for a little while at least, immersed in nothing more complicated than discussing the workings of military hardware.

* * *

A while later the two friends went out on the town, Hap convincing Holland that he needed to seriously lighten up. Hap always told him that. He had grudgingly agreed, although his preferred way to lighten up would be on a board in the sky.

The places they went to were as loud and colourful as the military allowed, the recent series of restrictions on public celebrations having taken its inevitable toll on nightlife. But, Holland had to admit, it wasn't just the regulations. It had been years since new music had entered the public sphere, the only originality coming from the remixing of older songs. Dewey had profused with vitriolic despair about this matter once, about what he called the "loss of the independent, original human spirit." Holland had not fully understood Dewey then, and he didn't now, but it was not rare to not fully understand Dewey.

In the third place they entered somebody spread the word around that Holland was an SOF pilot.

Fear.

Holland had only ever seen looks of fear that intense on the battlefield, usually on the faces of men and women he was about to terminate. These people were terrified of him. It made Holland want to be violently ill, made him want to lash out at them, teach them what fear meant. He wanted to cry.

He did the things he did, bore the burden he bore, so that these blind fools could exist in states of blissful safety and ignorance. And they fear him for it, make him a display. Outcast in the world he fights to protect.

_Behold! The Keeper of the Gate! Beloved and Feared Protector! _

_But never may he enter the gate he guards._

It didn't get better. The women were unbearable. They fawned and clutched and giggled, their looks of adoration thin kismets over their dread.

_This must be what Sergei feels like_, Holland thought in disgust, _no wonder he has the attitude he does, I would too if I was surrounded by this masque of deceit and superficiality._ _Oh Diane._

Anyone who has never truly had their heart broken cannot conceive the pain. He had loved her, truly loved her, loyally loved her, had given her everything he had the power to give. She had not feared him, had not despised him, had not pitied him.But had she loved him?

Could she have loved him and then left? Could she?

Was Adrock's legacy her true love, was he always merely a tool?

What had she wanted? What was in her head? What the fuck had she thought of him!

She had made him feel special, yes. She had been an escape from the life Holland had carved for himself, following behind Dewey's example. She had always known what to say to touch his heart, to move his arm, to revive his soul.

Maybe...maybe she made him believe that he could be more than the Keeper of the Gate. Maybe.

But she wasn't there. He needed her and she wasn't there. Other women seemed so empty, so superficial. They couldn't see who he was, couldn't touch his heart. Couldn't penetrate the man Holland had made himself.

Even as he thought this to himself, a voice in his head told him he was lying. Contrary to popular belief, it is actually very easy to lie to yourself, people do it all the time, but some part of Holland's mind felt obliged to remind him that he was generalizing. Hadn't Talho mentioned a similar kind of problem? That people couldn't see her for who she was? Was Holland just being self-pitying? Surely everybody felt alienated at some point. No doubt that's what Talho would have said, though probably in more aggressive language.

Talho would have...

Holland caught his thoughts before they went down that route. Since the Meet he had forcibly restrained himself from thinking to much about his brother's lover. He still saw her around, but he avoided talking with her overmuch. He didn't think of himself as being somehow immoral, but he didn't want the only woman with which he formed a meaningful connection to be his brother's partner. He thought this was quite a reasonable mindset, and anyways, it was just him having aroused thoughts in his own mind, nothing harmful, and additionally it wasn't as if she returned any of that affection. Holland had to smile inwardly, placing himself next to Dewey did not make for a favourable contrast, mentally or physically. He was just being ridiculous. Pathetic, really.

* * *

He tried to enjoy himself as best he could, meaning he got well and truly wasted. Hap stayed sober enough to get Holland to the apartment he stayed in during his leaves. The place was immaculate, with that never-been-lived-in look that only comes from the place never having been lived in. Holland took few leaves, and they were far between.

"Can't you use your own legs?" Hap asked rhetorically as he helped Holland through the doorway, half-carrying his friend.

"Can't use legs. They strapped to the board." Holland replied with the utmost gravity of the hopelessly drunk.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say champ." Hap shook his head smiling as he lowered Holland on to his bed, helping him take off his shoes, "You still can't take drink, can you?"

"Can take drink fine!" Holland declared indignantly, "The drink don't like me."

Hap laughed hugely despite himself, his own cheeks still flushed. Eventually he subsided enough to get a little serious. He really did care about Holland, more than he always let on. In Hap's eyes Holland tended to find himself surrounded by people who tried to use him as tools, Dewey, Diane. He wished Holland could find somebody who would honestly try and get Holland to be the best person he could be. Diane had been special to Holland, and Hap knew that, but even so she had never tried to get Holland to change himself.

"You're sure you're okay man? I can see about getting someone for tonight, you know." And Hap most certainly could.

"No." The reply was quite sharp, and Holland's eyes regained some focus, though he remained staring hard at the ceiling, "My nights are Diane's."

"Sure man." Hap muttered, giving Holland a pat on the shoulder as he got up to leave.

"...and sometimes Talho's." The words were barely audible, Holland murmuring them as he turned on to his shoulder away from Hap. The large man stood still for a moment, but Holland's breathing fell into the rhythm of sleep.

"Sweet dreams Holland." Hap quietly closed the door and let himself out.

* * *

The next day Holland stayed indoors. His head felt the size of a planetoid, and every loud noise made him flinch. He ordered out for lunch, and then regretted it when the ringing doorbell made him want to stick needles in his ears. The food was crap anyway. But then again, despite having rinsed his mouth a dozen times, everything tasted of alcohol.

_I'll never drink again_, Holland promised himself.

But in part he was happy for the hangover; it made it easier not to think about the other thing that was tormenting him.

He had dreamed that night. And as much as he wanted to forget it, he couldn't.

So he exercised the day away, push-ups, sit-ups, squats, lifts, running in place, even holding his hand over a kitchen flame to work on his pain tolerance. It had been a few years since he'd had to conduct an operative mission, KLFs rendering such assignments expedient in the face of inferior opposition, but he was still in fine shape. Though given to lankiness, Holland, in part to emulate his older brother, had even as a child kept himself at an impressive physical level of conditioning. Though never destined to have Charles' or Jason's strength, the younger Novak was rather proud that he was not only a superb pilot, but also a top-notch operative. There was a smell about operative work that feed a very primal aspect of Holland's spirit. He had long ago come to terms with the fact that he was, in some deep part of his heart, a hunter.

But the thoughts that plagued him now, his dreams, could not be stalked and killed. Was it foolish of him to still dream about Diane? Was it wrong of him to think about Talho the way he did when he slept, when the spectre of his sexual delusions became almost impossible for him to repress? It had been almost four months since he had been with a woman.

It was strange. When Diane had been around, if somebody had asked him if he could go without sex for a year, for two, he would have answered of course. Now six months stretched for ages. His thoughts constantly strayed to Diane, to Talho. He wasn't even able to tell which of the two he felt worst about. It was infuriating.

As he worked himself to exhaustion, he wondered if a leave had not been the worst possible thing for him. Too much time to think, too many questions that just flew around his head, and never a single answer anywhere in sight.

God damn, he was pathetic.

* * *

Holland's leave was intended to be one month. It lasted two weeks.

He received the call around midnight, not from an Information Department Secretary, but from Dewey himself. The call shut down Holland's introspections instantly, the concern in his brother's voice silencing all his personal problems.

"Commander Holland, unfortunately your leave has to be curtailed; I have recently received urgent information pertaining to an affair that requires your involvement. No more information than that can be disclosed at this time. I expect you back within the next twenty-four hours, understood?"

"Yes sir." Holland replied, his SOF self already asserting itself.

"Good." There was a pause, "And Commander, my apologies."

* * *

Mephiles: Thanks for reading, and I hoped you enjoyed this. Please remember to leave your comments, reviews or criticisms they will be appreciated. I will attempt to get the next one up whenever I can, so please be patient. By the way .Megami.Ze. I'm also South African and I live in Cape Town too, cool, huh? Well, until next time.


	8. Behind Closed Doors

**Behind Closed Doors**

"Attention military murderers, this transmission is intended for you."

The speaker was a young man, his face haggard and pale, Holland could only surmise it was due to deprivation from sleep, food or both. It was an appearance he was not unfamiliar with, the look of a man with little to live for.

"I have sent this broadcast out on the military frequency, waste your time tracing my transmission if you wish, but by the time you have located me it will already be to late for you to rescue yourself from what I have in store for you."

The face had certainly been handsome at one point, and Holland could see the hot and sharp hate in the speaker's eyes, though the rest of the room was almost entirely concealed from sight. His threat sounded ridiculous, though something about his manner, and the concern emanating from Dewey, made it clear to Holland that the man was dangerous.

"I am a former member of the D.U.M. movement, a peacefully organised group which the military ruthlessly massacred without warning or attempts at negotiation. Let any military murderers listening to this know that it is the sweetest of ironies that that very cruel, uncompromising and sadistic attitude towards life with which my friends and colleagues where crushed..." the man lost his composure as a terrific shuddering sob racked his malnourished form, but recuperated and continued, "...has given me the way to strike out more dangerously than the D.U.M. ever could."

A slightly hysterical smile played on the man's face as he spoke now, a suicidal slash of white that held no humour, but volumes of pain.

"I already know the word you baby-killing bastards have put out to the public, that you attacked us in retaliation for the destruction of a civilian maintained radio station. A non-military, undefended facility with a functioning staff of over thirty, including women."

By this point Holland had already guessed what was to come, but the anticipation did little to dull the blow when it fell, like a blade straight to the heart.

"But I know the truth. And I have proof of it."

Suddenly the madcap smile was replaced by footage, clear and visible, that showed a station on a mountain outcrop, then the arrival of a KLF, then...

Holland did not need to watch the recording to remember the event exactly.

"This proof I will release to every Spire City in the Federation unless my demands are met."

There was such a passionate hatred in the man's eyes by now that the word fanatical was the only appropriate adjective. Holland felt it as though it was centred entirely and wholly on him. Sure enough, "These demands are simple. I want the pilot of that KLF. I want him delivered unarmed and alone to the co-ordinates I'm sending along with this message."

Holland flicked his eyes towards Dewey, trying to gauge his brother's thought processes, but the older man was unreadable. Holland could not help the rising feeling of failure building within him. It had been his mission, and part of that mission had been to ensure that the military could not be linked to the attack. He cursed his absence of mind. He should have run another pass through the valley to ensure no-one had been around to see, let alone record the event. It was not like him to make such a simple mistake, had he been pre-occupied? Had he simply forgotten?

Angrily he gritted his teeth and remained silent.

"If I suspect that any military force or personnel are present before, during or after the drop this footage goes out. And in case you're thinking of sending the wrong guy, I already know who he is thanks to all the publicity surrounding his unit. Commander Holland Novak of the 1st Mobile Squadron, the bastard leader of your favourite group of killers the fucking SOF."

The man leaned in close enough to the screen to allow Holland to pick out individual follicles of beard stubble and the veins on his ravaged red eyes,

"Send me that fucker, give him to me, and then we'll talk."

* * *

Suicide. It was a word Holland was far from unfamiliar with. He had confronted members of religious movements who had employed suicide combatants, men and women harnessed with explosives or driving bomb laden trucks. Amongst the ranks of the SOF suicidal recklessness was not unknown, though frowned upon as it conflicted with the clinical character the unit was intended to operate under. Holland had himself on many occasions (so many, he realized, that he had lost count), undertaken missions with little chance of success or survival. But it had never been suicide. Never had he gone in with the knowledge that his death was part of the objective, or at least 'acceptable' in the success of the operation.

It was a small difference, but it meant the world right then.

The question was simple, would Holland undertake a suicide assignment for the good of the Federation. Not a risky assignment, or a deadly assignment, but a suicidal one. Holland had hoped that it would not come to that. Dewey had promised him that he would do everything he could in order to make it so that Holland would not have to give himself over to this lunatic. It was clear, though, that his threat could not be allowed to happen. The Federation military was vast and indubitably the single dominant force on the planet, but it was, by necessity, spread very thin over a huge area. An entire planet in fact.

For this reason the potential cost of the public backlash that would result from the release of the damning information could not be tolerated. Holland knew that unless Dewey could find an alternative very, very soon, there would be no choice but for the military to hand him over.

_God, Dewey, if I've ever need you to do that irritating thing you do it's now._

_

* * *

_

"I cannot accept that the only route is to cave to the demands of this terrorist, surely we..."

"Terrorists, sir." Talho corrected Major Kampoff.

The man blinked "What?"

"It is not a single terrorist, but a group. The intel here is quite solid." She tried to refrain from smiling. It was part disturbing and part flattering that even a military man like Kampoff, a combat veteran and noted tactician, could not keep himself from taking a moment to give her a once over. It was partly her fault, she knew.

Talho had been good at her job in Intelligence. Good, but not great. It had been her carefully developed ability to manipulate those around her that had ensured that she continued to rise through the ranks. It had taken many backroom relationships and a fair number of betrayals for Miss Yuki to become Lieutenant Yuki. Some days it ate at her, other days it felt like it empowered her.

"Right, apologises Lieutenant," Kampoff continued with commendable fortitude, "we cannot allow the Federation to be pressurized into surrendering to the demands of terrorists. If we do so we send out a message to every sonuvabitch on this whole planet that the Federation gives in at the slightest chance of bad publicity."

"True Kampoff," This was Lieutenant Major Newman, a sharp-faced man with a known penchant for tackling military situations with a 'maximin' approach, always maximise the worst possible outcome. It was almost certain that he would argue that surrendering Holland would be a comparatively small sacrifice. Sure enough, "but we aren't talking about the accidental destruction of a civilian building here, but clear camera footage of the premeditated massacre of a station and its occupants. I've seen the reports, twenty-two women and four children. It won't simply be water under the boat I assure you." _Bastard._

The reaction to Newman's stating of the obvious was mixed, though Talho could pick up that easily two-thirds, perhaps even three-quarters of the assembled officers were prepared to accept Holland as an acceptable sacrifice. It galled Talho.

_Ungrateful group of fuckers, _and she knew personally that several of them were not to good at being that either, _he's the number one pilot the Federation has, who here has ever risked what he's risked? Done what he's done?_

Dewey then spoke up, and Talho mentally retracted her comment, "All truths gentleman, but if you would permit, it seems to me that the problem is not as fundamental as it seems. Both approaches seek to prevent the appearance of weakness in the Federation. The one weakness comes from our capitulation to terrorists; the second is the potential vulnerability implicit in the massacre of civilians. Both are honest concerns, but the question we must ask ourselves is which weakness is the most damaging to the Federation as an entity entire. The second weakness seems threatening as it raises the spectre of rebellion and revolution, those damned foes we have all faced for the last ten years and more. Egregious, terrible harm could potentially flow from this source..."

Talho noted how the notables around the room nodded or furrowed their brows, or examined their hands, or in the case of one rather plump Captain named Welles, attempted to discretely remedy the fact that his underwear had ridden up painfully. Newman was sharpening his eyes, narrowing them as he sought to conceive of a way to regain the room; Kampoff was furrowing his brow, with his great eyebrows bristling like a swarm of black beetles. This was the real reason Dewey had noticed her initially, not her appearance, but her ability to read people, especially people she had known intimately. She would take note of the reactions and demeanour of the audience, and then afterwards provide Dewey with a complete report: who had agreed, who had disagreed, who had done so grudgingly, and who had done so readily. It was a talent she had worked hard to improve. Dewey was worth that kind of effort.

"...But it is not the worst kind of harm that we could be threatened with. Such harm is physical, and measured in bodies, but this is a currency we, as the military, are intended to exchange in. On the other hand, if we weaken ourselves by caving to the demands of a terrorist what we are weakening is not the physical but the ideological foundations of the Federation, and that is infinitely worse. If physical cost is measured in bodies, then ideological cost is paid for in whole cities and nations. The Federation must prove that it can withstand any assault, physical and ideological. We must not cave. We must show that no terrorist dictates to use. We will prove that we fear not the cost of bodies as long as the ideals of the Federation remain upheld. Remember, we are the wall between humanity's survival and its failure. We must preserve humanity, not any given group of humans."

Talho could not help but feel her attention waning as Dewey continued, could not help gazing at the side of his face, his every line bespeaking charisma and honesty, as if he knew a truth so absolute that he could not convey it. It was easy to forget that he was arguing on behalf of his brother. Talho subtly shook her head, _How was it possible that they could be so similar, yet so different? Dewey, Holland. Truly the was something noble in the line of the Novaks. Though Holland never carried himself with the same stature and grace that Dewey managed without any apparent effort, Talho had come to believe that a different kind of hero lived inside Holland. If Dewey wanted to save the entire world, Holland wanted to ease his brother's burden, share it if he could. And they looked so much the same. _

"And that is why I move that we decide right here, right now, not to surrender to these demands." Dewey concluded, stepping back and closing his eyes.

The room was silent for a moment. Then a wave of agreement rumbled through the assembled soldiers, nods and fierce smiles. Kampoff slammed his fist down on to the table, barking his support for Dewey's recommendation. Even Newman grimaced wordlessly, unable to bring a counter-argument to the table. Talho allowed herself an exhalation of relief and appreciation. Dewey had just won the room. As calm resettled on the group Dewey took his seat and crossed his fingers, only the slightest hint of a smile telling Talho that he was well-pleased with himself.

But it was not over.

"Wonderfully spoken Lieutenant Colonel, but unfortunately this is a decision that neither you nor any of us can make." The voice was small, reedy, and not without a pang of regret. It belonged to Lieutenant Fernandez, an Intelligence officer with a receding hairline and tight, controlled movements. Talho cursed herself for missing him, and when his eyes glanced at her as she stood to Dewey's side she retracted.

Louis Fernandez had been one of the men she had known very well as she cut her way up the promotion ladder. He had started as her subordinate, but had proved so inoculated to her attempts at manipulation that as others fell he had risen. He also had a near encyclopaedic knowledge of all rules and laws in the Federation, thanks in no small part to his virtually photographic memory.

"The regulations on this matter are actually very clear." Fernandez took a long inhalation, a sign that he was about to launch into a narration, "According to the military protocol concerning terrorist negotiation and containment, any decision of whether or not to deal with any given threatening group, assuming that the threat is reasonably presumed to be of such a nature as to impact upon federal structures, or where the potential damage exceeds federally predetermined limits, can only be undertaken by an executive officer with authority granted by the Sage Council, or via a suitable substitute for such an extension of federal authority. The decision cannot be made solely by on site military command structures, be they state-affiliated, domestic or special operations."

A pause. The room remained silent, Dewey watched the Lieutenant with an unreadable intent.

With a cough he continued, "Ahem, and this brings us to the matter of federal authority extension, clearly laid out in the provisions regarding the extent of military and civil authority afforded to military commanders in situations of federal emergency or threats of such. This terrorist demand constitutes just such a threat of federal emergency, by the Lt. Colonel's own admission, and therefore this matter cannot be decided on by any individual present at this meeting due to a lack of federal authority. That is to say, Lt. Colonel Novak lacks the legal permission to decide how to deal with this situation.

The only response open to us is to advance the decision to the Federal Army Regional Command."

Talho bit her lip, trying to think of something, anything, she could dredge out of her memory of protocol and regulation that could provide a response to Fernandez's damnably well-wrought argument.

There were ways. The best was if it could be argued that the threat did not in fact constitute a federal danger. Barring that, it could be argued that Dewey in fact had sufficient federal authority on account of his position as supervisor of the SOF, which was after all the Federation's most elite fighting force. But the latter argument was groping at straws, Talho couldn't recall precisely, but was very sure that Fernandez would have done his homework, and not have brought this matter up if Dewey had a legitimate claim to the decision, after all the SOF was by definition a special operations unit. The former argument was hamstrung by Dewey's own eloquence; the Lt. Colonel had after all just regaled them with a speech about why this was in fact an enormous threat. A void opened in Talho's stomach and she felt as though her insides were slowly freezing, her breath a little tight. If this decision did rise to a higher level, there was a very real possibility that Holland would be deemed expendable, sacrificed to either placate or trap the target.

And there was nothing she, or even Dewey, could do to stop it.

* * *

It was frustrating for Holland to be confined to the quarters. He understood the precaution, understood the necessity, the fear that considering the situation he may attempt to escape the base. But that understanding did nothing to soothe the seething fury building within him.

"Dammit" He barked as he punched the wall, not for the first time. How could he have been that careless, that idiotic! Leaving a survivor in the area was... worse than unacceptable...it was inexcusable. Holland doubted that even Dewey could pull him out of this, and he did not doubt his sibling often.

What almost grated most was that Holland knew that he and most members of the SOF had committed far greater atrocities than the slaughter of the station crew. That was less than one hundred lives, in some attacks the 1st Mobile had left several hundred non-combatants dead. It was a perverse comfort, and Holland felt a pang on his conscience at the fact that this thought had such compelling logic to him. The difference was that the Federation had explicitly stated that the station had been destroyed by the secessionists; the difference was that in this case there was a witness to show evidence of the lie.

It was a strange world, where a multi-hundred person massacre does less harm than the uncovering of a single lie. Less harm to the Federation.

_Military murderers_ the man had said, no, had spat with hate. It was not a particularly hurtful offense, Holland had heard far worse, but it always cut to see the face of a relative of one you killed. And this man was a relative to somebody who died in the station, Holland was sure of that. A son perhaps, a husband maybe. A father...

Holland blinked furiously to clear those thoughts from his mind, the aided nothing and helped no-one, they were the sentiments he did not have the luxury to feel. But to imagine a child...

Holland punched the wall again, this time there was a distinct crack as something in his hand gave way. Grimacing at the not altogether unwelcome physical pain, he gritted his teeth heavily and sat down on the bed provided for him. He had broken a knuckle in his right hand, a stabbing pain ran through it every time he moved his fingers, and a dull ache washed over it when he held it still. With calm deliberation Holland enclosed his right hand in his left and squeezed until the screaming of his nerves forced itself from his mouth in a strangled yelp. Sweat beading on his forehead Holland breathed heavily for a few moments, grateful to the ability of pain to focus his thoughts.

What is done is done, it is irreversible, and to expend time upon it is pointless waste of that most precious of all resources. What mattered was what would happen now. He would face whatever they decided with the dignity that a Novak should show...

Before he got any further he heard the sound of footsteps approaching on the other side of the door. Hurriedly he wiped the sweat from his face with the bedding and placed his damaged hand behind his back in as casual a manner as he could contrive.

He held the position for several seconds, but the door to the room did not open.

Suddenly angry, Holland barked, "I can hear you out there! What in the shit are you doing standing outside the room?"

No response.

"Hey! Fucktard! I'm talking to you!" He railed, his hands aching, literally and figuratively, with the desire to attack this insufferable person. His rage was like a vast storm, and he was well and truly carried away upon it, and whoever was outside would be on the receiving end.

* * *

Talho cursed her own lack of resolve as she heard Holland's recriminations from the other side of the door. Dewey had sent her in particular to take the news of the verdict to Holland, but as she came closer to the moment it loomed before her like a threatening thunderhead. Her heart was racing, throat dry, as she tried to steel herself to face the younger Novak. With purpose she shot out her hand to the door's control panel, slid her finger over the key...

And froze. A tremble ran through her arm, and she half-retracted it. In that instant she hated Dewey for placing upon her this stifling weight. How could he expect her to take the news to Holland? To tell him that the military and the Federation would willingly give him up as a sacrifice rather than face the embarrassment of the truth?

The obscene truth, that the Federation insured its hegemony wholly through the use of force. That the military was the sword with which this was achieved, and the SOF was its cutting edge. That there were thousands of innocents whose corpses filled the gaping hole that was the secret history of the SOF. And that amongst these was the pregnant wife of a man with the ability to speak out...

Talho was not soulless. Of course she wished that no innocents need die, that the Federation could find some means of suppressing sedition that did not require violence, that no collateral damage need take place. Of course she wished these things. But she did not, in her innermost self, believe them possible. She loved Dewey Novak, a man who planned operations that entailed the death of civilians as a matter of course. She loved him, and believed with all her heart that what he attempted to do was for the best, that the deaths he caused were all sacrifices for a better world.

Before she had met Dewey there had been a part of her that had alternated between feeling contempt, sympathy and apathy for the enemies of the Federation. At times the news of the destruction of some or other insurgent stronghold would fill her with a kind of angry happiness, whilst at other times a cold tendril of compassion for the defeated had made its way through her thoughts. Mostly though, she had felt almost nothing. As an Information Officer she handled dozens of battle and damage reports weekly, a process that soon inoculates one to the misery of their contents. The truth is that lives became numbers very easily.

If someone had asked her what change in her feelings towards the victims of the Federation would come about as a result of her forming a relationship with the Lieutenant Colonel Novak, supervisor of the SOF, she would have replied that it would doubtless have led to increased hatred and disdain for them. She would have answered this way because of her belief that such would be Dewey's position.

She had, of course, underestimated him. Dewey did not hate his enemies, showed no disdain for them. He had taught her that the only acceptable response to the aporetic decisions that had to be made by those who wield power was a sense of necessary sacrifice, of tragedy. Without ever talking to her about it he had taught her through example that a true hero, the kind of man who makes a better world, is a figure of tragedy and sacrifice. She did not doubt for a moment that he was such a hero. Nor, for that matter, did she doubt Holland. The innocents that died by his hand were regrettable, but necessary, sacrifices. He was a hero who bore the weight of responsibility upon him.

And now she had to tell him that a distant council of old men would be deciding whether he would be given up as sacrifice himself.

* * *

His throat growing sore from the tirade he had unleashed, Holland drifted into silence, still glowering at the closed door. He contemplated various ways in which he could attack the stranger if they entered, some of those contemplations branching out into plans for escape from the base, and delusions about a life on the run. _Life as a renegade, a rebel,_ Holland sneered at that idea, he would rather die than become some deluded anti-government outcast, heading some misbegotten crew of malcontents in a vainglorious attempt to bring down the Federation. As he considered this potentiality for his life he found a sense of calm come over him, a surety that regardless of what his fate might be, even if it be death, it would be better that alternative.

It was whilst Holland was regaining his control in this way that Talho finally worked up the resolve, and opened the door.


	9. The Story So Far

The Story So Far

Talho tried her best to look calm and in control as she entered the room, forcing herself to meet the stare Holland directed at her. She also tried to believe that she was imagining the accusation in it. He simply looked back at her with a face contorted by feelings that she could not fully interpret. It may have been anger, or frustration, or anguish, or fear. It could have been regret. So unreadable was Holland's eyes that Talho found her gaze wondering away from them. It was a sensation that was strangely familiar, this unreadable stare; it felt as though she had experienced it before. But at the same time she was filled with certainty that in her previous encounters with it, it had drawn her in, even seduced her. That was, of course, when it originated from Dewey's face. In front of her lover she felt naked and enveloped by it. In front of Holland she felt naked and completely exposed.

To try and calm herself she began paying meticulous attention to the younger Novak's physical state. Holland was topless, in nothing but his boxers, which was not at all uncommon for him during down time, and was sitting on his bed. One of his hands was far too casually placed behind his back for Talho not to notice, and a brief tremor of fear ran through her as she wondered whether he would try to charge her and escape, whether he had some weapon. Talho didn't know if she would blame him if he did try it.

It was only after this mental detour that she realized he was sweating profusely, far more than would be expected considering the rooms atmospheric controls. As she looked up at him to say something about it her voice stuck as she met his eyes again. She simply couldn't do it. It was as if keeping the decision from him would somehow mean it never happened, as though speaking the order aloud would make it substantial and real. As long as it remained unsaid, went the illogical thought, it wasn't true.

It was a train of thought that Talho was not entirely new to. It was the same reasoning that had often kept her from admitting her infidelity, or had kept her from accusing someone else thereof. It was easier that way. Once the word was spoken it assumed a life of its own, it would coil into people and places and change them forever. She had experienced that, many, many times. The problem was that though it may be easier for the words to remain unspoken, it did not make them any less true. A knowing omission is a lie, just as the choice to abstain from making a choice is a choice. If there was a morality, Talho often wondered how honesty would fit into it.

"Are you just going to stand there?" Holland's words came out grated, as though he was scouring long tracks into them with the acid in his tone.

"Are you going to just sit there?" Talho retorted, partly instinctually, partly out of relief that he had stopped staring and was now grimacing visibly. Verbal attacks she could handle.

"Well not much else for me to do, now is there? Me being confined to quarters and all." Holland pulled his lower lip in a sneer, beads of sweat forming on his temples, "did they send you here to tell me something? Or did you come to see the dead guy for a turn on? You're not here as my last request, are you?"

"You're so immature, as if I would waste my time on something like that." She was surprised by the vehemence in her voice, surprised by how angry she felt. She had sudden urge to strike him, to beat him, to make him hurt...

"Get out then!" He raved as he rose from his bed and gestured furiously at the door with his exposed hand, teeth clenched in what she was certain had to be titanic fury, "Get out! I don't want to talk to you; I don't want to talk to anybody! What the fucking hell could you possibly have to say to me...!"

"That you're going to die!" Talho yelled back, all her angst and sorrow invested into the anger with which she delivered the news, "Their going to give you up!"

"I said get out! I don't want to talk to a..." Holland's eyes widened and glazed as her words registered, "...give me up..." he mumbled as he slumped down on to his bed, his limbs falling lifelessly to his sides. As the previously hidden hand dropped from behind his back against the side of the bed frame Holland yelped and jumped up again, body taunt as the pain stabbed through him. Talho jumped a little in surprise, her heart skipping a beat as for a moment she feared he was planning to rush her, before her perceptive nature re-asserted herself. Her eyes were drawn to the broken hand that Holland was now nursing, enclosed in his other hand with both pressed against his bowed head.

"What's wrong with your hand?" she asked, her recent anger making her words sharper than she intended.

"Nothing," he grated, this time lowering himself on to the bed with deliberative care, not meeting her gaze.

"Bullshit," she spat, suddenly fearless as she strode purposively towards him, the suddenness of her clearly unexpected response causing Holland to raise his head.

As she met his eyes Talho, though maintaining the appearance of unflappability, was stung by the deep numbness in his expression. She had expected more anger from him, would have preferred it. Anger she could handle, rage she could handle. But this vacuum was unsettling to her; it was so much the opposite of her nature that being in its presence set her hairs on end. This was not just unlike her, but it was unlike Dewey too. Her lover was more prone to emotion, he was controlled, certainly, but never numb. It scared her how unfeeling Holland seemed.

Trying to avoid the discomfort through activity she quickly, and more harshly than she intended, unwrapped his fingers concealing the damaged appendage and surveyed the extent of the harm. Though she had no medical qualification at all, Talho had seen enough injuries in her time to know that Holland's hand was definitely broken, and that it must have been causing him significant pain, even before he dropped it against the bed frame. She touched it gingerly, moving her fingers over the damaged area, all the while keeping her attention fixed on the hand.

"You should go have this looked at," she declared assertively, not lifting her gaze, "how did it happen?"

"Does it matter?" Holland's tone was deadpan, but that only served to make his reminder of the absurd irony of her concern more cutting. Talho forced herself to lift her face and confront the doomed Novak's zombie stare, trying desperately to think of something to say that could ease the situation, which could breathe life back into those vacant eyes.

What do you say to someone about to die? Holland already knew why he was to be sacrificed, explaining that to him seemed eminently unnecessary. He already knew that the decision was made with the justification of saving lives. He also knew that it was really all about saving face, about preventing the truth of the Federation's methods from coming to light. How could she comfort him when she believed that his life was worth far more than the cost of this revelation? If it were her life on the line she would have already been planning her escape. It just seemed like no words would be sufficient, and the longer the silence continued the more she felt as though she was drowning and choking within his grey, vacuous stare.

"Because as long as you draw breath your fate is uncertain, for good or ill."

Talho jolted upright at the unexpected sound of Dewey's voice, just barely avoiding squeezing down on Holland's hand.

"Dewey, you came yourse..." she began to enquire but was cut short when her lover gestured firmly, but not unkindly, for her to leave.

"Please understand Lieutenant, I sent you ahead to inform the Commander so that he would know the news as soon as possible, but as his superior officer, and as his brother, it is my responsibility to see this through. Could you please give us some privacy?"

The tone was not angry or critical, but there was a contriteness that Talho had seldom heard in it. She did not hesitate for a moment as she made her way towards the door, Dewey stepping into the room to allow her exit. As she reached the portal she turned to take a last look at Holland. He was still sitting, sweating and breathing heavily, injured hand held tight in the other, but now his eyes were focussed on his brother with some of their usual intensity. _As long as Dewey has faith, so do I_, was what Holland's look seemed to be saying. Turning quickly to conceal the look of happiness on her face at the change in the younger Novak she left the room. As the door sealed behind her she closed her eyes in what could have been a prayer,

"Please, please Dewey, please make everything work out."

* * *

Talho did not return to her duties in the aftermath of her interaction with Holland. This was not a problem because she had already seen to all that was required of her in her capacity as Dewey's personal information officer. This gave her the opportunity to think. Holland was her friend, and she had come to think of him as somebody she could rely on, trust even. And it was not in Talho Yuki's nature to trust readily. Come to think of it, it was quite peculiar that Holland had the position he did have, considering that most of the time she found him to be an insufferable imitation of his older brother. She cursed herself inwardly as she found she was once more comparing the two Novaks. It distressed her how frequently she fell into doing so, as though the two men should in some way be more comparable than any other pair of men. She was not a fool; brothers could be as different as night and day, the genetic similarity notwithstanding. On top of her usual frustration there was also the feeling of moral repugnance she felt at herself as her mind once again involuntarily appraised Dewey as Holland's superior. She did not want to think badly of him, not in this situation, and in all honesty not ever. Prior to getting to know him she was confident he would be the usual SOF guy, all professional brute. That was what almost all the men and women of the SOF were, though some favoured the professional and others the brute. Caiphas, Sergei, Ray and Ice were examples of the former, Devin, Charles and Jason examples of the latter. But Holland was not really an example of either. He came across as a professional in passing, or if you're not perceptive, but Talho had quickly noticed that what Holland lacked compared to the other pilots of the SOF was...for lack of a better word, belief. Even the most professional member was a believer in the job they did, at the very least a believer in being the best KLF pilots in the world. But Holland did not actually care for such things. The Federation, truth, right, wrong, strength, it often seemed as though Holland barely registered these concepts in his mind. This quality enabled him to be a lethally efficient soldier, but it raised the spectre of fear as to his motivation. Talho realized that the question she really wanted answered was...

* * *

"Why does Holland strive so hard?"

"Yes, that's right, can you answer the question?"

Caiphas raised an eyebrow at Talho's forcefulness, putting aside the strange cube he had been fiddling with when she had approached him. The veteran sat back in his chair and took a moment to scan his interlocutor. And scan was the correct word, Talho could tell that Oldboy was not checking her out; it was not a predatory appraisal, but an honest one. It even made Talho a little uncomfortable. But in the end she appeared to pass his silent test as he spread his arms and nodded, "Okay then, you want to know why Holland does it? Well unfortunately I can't answer that question."

"Come on!" she beseeched, "what do you gain by keeping the information from me?"

"Nothing, but you aren't listening girl. I didn't say that I didn't want to tell you, I can't tell you. It's simple really. I know that I give the impression of being able to read fellows easily, and generally that's the case, but people like Holland, well their real tricky. The thing about them is that the hide their motivations under so much defence that to try and get at it would require them to break down a lot of themselves. I think that Holland doesn't even know why he does it anymore. There was a fire their once, but it went out, but the body just kept going as if nothing's changed at all. If you try to get at those embers though, to try and see what the fire once was, you're likely to break him. You know what I mean?" The concluding question was obviously meant to be rhetorical, but Caiphas clearly did not expect some young information officer to really GET what he was saying, and that made Talho really angry.

"Get off it. Whatever Holland's fire was it will be the same as it is for anyone: patriotism, egotism, loss, love, money or whatever. You must have some suspicion about what that fire was! Why did Holland join the SOF?" _Why does he put himself in situation were those he obeys will hang him out to dry?_

"Oh, sorry about that, did I come across as condescending? Too much time spent with Jason and Devin I'm afraid. In all honesty I always figured that his motivation came from his lineage. It's not a fun time to be a Novak you know, even if the Colonel has done an awful lot to restore the name's credibility. Know what I was trying to say is that I don't think even Holland knows why he pushes himself the way he does, and if he was to start questioning it then he would find out that there is really nothing there at all." He pulled his mouth into a sardonic grin, "that's how things panned out for me anyway. Got started in the military kind of late, never really believed in most of the rhetoric, but I was good at it, it paid the bills. The money didn't keep me warm at night, but my credentials as a...well not hero exactly, but as a dangerous and important military man certainly meant my nights weren't lonely. I suppose that's part of why I'm not interested in being promoted or in being the best the way Holland, Charles, Ice and Sergei are. I believe in my job. I suppose you could think of me as a true..."

"Professional."

The old man's eyes lit up with humour as she finished his thought, "Exactly. You're sharper than I thought girl, clearly all that flooze is a smokescreen. I can see why the Colonel likes you."

Talho's eyes widened at Caiphas' revelation that he was aware of her and Dewey's relationship, she wondered if Holland had...

"The commander didn't tell me, don't worry. I just worked it out." Caiphas was obviously pleased with her surprise as he once again picked up the cube he had been toying with. Talho turned to leave the room, more than a little annoyed. Just before she exited the veteran advised, "Try talking to Charles, he knows the commander more personally."

* * *

_Irritating old bastard_, Talho thought to herself as she made her way back to her room. Though she had been in relationships with older men before, it had rarely gone well. They were always trying to treat her like some child in pigtails playing with dolls. _You would think that since the army has allowed female combatants for almost 70 years that kind of crap would have died out._ _Ray was one of the SOF's top ace's for fuck's sake!_

She was still fuming when she arrived at her apartment, angrily slamming her door shut behind her and throwing herself over her bed. Lieutenant Yuki did not keep a neat room. There were various articles of clothing strewn across the floor and bed, including some of her more scandalous undergarments, and as she rubbed herself against her bed covers one particular piece caught her eye. It was the black lace body mesh she had worn the last time Dewey had come to her apartment. It still lay were she had tossed it after the pair's foreplay had run its course, bringing back memories of a VERY memorable evening. With a sigh she realized that that night felt as though it had happened a long time ago. Usually Talho's remedy for feeling victimised due to misogyny was to have awesome sex with some guy until he caved and did whatever she said. She was well aware it was a perverse method, but it was tremendously enabling, affirming. It pleased her to remind herself that pretty much any guy would do the stupidest things if she offered some incentive. There was good reason that Talho was known as a true she-wolf within the information department, both desirable and dangerous. More than a few hotshots had tried to get the better of her but each one had wound up at the bottom, both literally and metaphorically. To her it seemed like karma, if men intended to treat women as sexualized objects, then they would reap the consequences.

Of course all this had changed with Dewey. He had never denigrated her based on her gender; in fact she had barely ever seen the Lieutenant Colonel make a judgement about anybody based on their contingent features. That was not to say that he was not appreciative of her sexual femininity, he was a very ardent and passionate lover, skilful at evoking pleasure in her. He just didn't think any of that made a person better or superior. Talho had been infatuated before, but she could not help but conclude that what she felt for Dewey had to be love. It terrified her sometimes. Contained in that fear lay part of the reason why spending time with Holland was sometimes so refreshing for her. In fact the two brothers had started to take up more and more of her life.

She thought of the two brothers in Holland's room, talking deeply about the nature of the situation, Dewey spinning some genius plan and Holland nodding along, waiting for the moment when his brother's plan would require his terrific skills. Allowing her hand to wander done her body, squeezing her breasts on the way done, unbuttoning her uniform, she thought of the two Novaks leaning closer together, eyes growing smoky and dark, Holland's nude chest heaving as his lust rose. She picture their lips inching closer, Dewey's in perpetual motion as he outlined his plan, until Holland took the initiative, arching forward and instigating a ravaging kiss that Dewey returned with fervour. Talho began to moan, her eyes closed tight, fingers working her sex organs, her other hand teasing her now exposed nipples, in the theatre of her mind she saw her lover and his brother stark naked, their bodies frantically rubbing against each other. She imagined how Dewey's experienced hands would work over Holland's body, whilst the younger Novak's stamina and strength allowed him to control the flow of the love-making. Her own masturbation reaching a crescendo, Talho found herself in her fantasy, being penetrated by the two brothers, Dewey in front and Holland behind. Her lover was running his one hand through her hair whilst the other massaged and squeezed her ass cheek, all the while alternating between whispering endearments and delivering intoxicating kisses. Holland was driving methodically into her anus his hands both grasping a breast, contracting and releasing in rhythm with his penetration. She could feel his fantastic abdominal muscles work against the small of her back as he endeavoured for greater satisfaction. All three approached climax, Talho threw her head back, Holland and Dewey meeting each other's lips over her shoulder, as she felt as though their penises would meet inside her.

With an almighty shout Talho came.

The little death came over her, and when it passed guilt came to her mind. It was guilt towards both brothers: Dewey because he did not deserve her fantasising about another man, and Holland because his life was in jeopardy, and somehow using him as masturbation fodder seemed to be belittling his situation. It had, however, been a phenomenal climax for self-pleasuring. Turning to lay face down Talho buried her face in a pillow,

_WHY MUST THINGS BE COMPLICATED!_

* * *

Mephiles: Hey...yeah. Sorry for the wait. Enjoy and please review. Will try to update Xanadu to. You may have noticed some yaoi in this fanfiction...possibly. If this upsets you well...probably aren't reading this. Please review.

Kind regards me.


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